


it all comes out in moron

by enbytim



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gilmore Girls Setting, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, M/M, Slow Burn, idk canon exists up until season 3 and then things went very differently for both of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbytim/pseuds/enbytim
Summary: "This is it. For better or worse, this is their life for the next year. Away from Chicago, away from his old job, away from -. Well, away from everything he knows, is the point."
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Liam Gallagher, Ian Gallagher & Lip Gallagher, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Liam Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 39
Kudos: 76





	1. july

**Author's Note:**

> well.... hello. here i am again with another wip i don't have completely planned, are we really surprised at this point?? anyway, how are we?? taking care of ourselves in these extremely trying times, i hope. if nothing else, i hope this provides some respite for you, because that's how i felt writing this chapter. i feel like i should warn you now that these chapters are probably gonna be...... _long_ , and therefore might take me a while to churn out, but i promise!! that this will get finished!!
> 
> oh, also, i _was_ tiredavatar but it was time for an update, so.
> 
> as usual, a shout out to my regular gang: [willa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oforamuse/pseuds/oforamuse), [taylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boneached/pseuds/boneached) and [michelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/statichearts/pseuds/statichearts)

_twenty-eighth_

Liam slides a cardboard box labelled ‘school’ into the trunk. It’s the last of them, and he leans on it to make sure it’s safely tucked between a box of bathroom supplies and a box of Ian’s clothes before stepping away from the car completely.

“That’s the last of it, right?” Ian asks. He’s got both hands on the door, his arms raised above his head, and he’s swaying a little in an effort to keep his balance.

“Yeah, I think so.” Liam says as he moves back even further and tucks himself underneath Lip’s outstretched arm. “Unless _you_ forgot something.”

Lip lets out a loud snort when Ian glares over at them, and jostles Liam against his side when he starts to laugh. With Liam out of the way, Ian slams the trunk shut. Or, well. He _tries_ to slam the trunk shut. The car is this super fucking old light red Honda Civic that’s almost orange in places. Ian had bought it for… worryingly cheap, now that he thinks about it. Not that it matters, really, because the _point_ is that it’s probably just held together with duct tape and a prayer at this point. Or twelve prayers. Moments after Ian closes it, the trunk springs right back open again.

It’s Liam’s turn to snort this time, and he sniggers into a clenched fist when Ian glances over his shoulder to raise an eyebrow at them. Lip shrugs, and does his fucking _best_ to look innocent, but Ian can see the way he’s fighting a smile. Ian sighs, flips them both off, and tries to slam the trunk shut again as he mutters under his breath about them being assholes. Thankfully, it works this time, and the lock quietly clicks into place. Ian lets out a deep breath, just one heavy punch of air, and then slowly turns around.

This is it. The moment he’s spent the past couple weeks both looking forward to and _dreading_ at the same time.

Leaving.

He’s _leaving_.

Miles, and states, and hours away.

With Liam.

Without Lip.

Now that it’s actually here, Ian isn’t sure how he feels. Especially not when Lip coughs and avoids meeting his eye for a few seconds.

“Guess this is it then, huh?” Lip asks quietly.

His hand is on Liam’s shoulder, his thumb moving in slow, gentle circles, but he’s looking right at _Ian_ as he says it. It makes something hot and uncomfortable settle in Ian’s belly. Makes him _think_ about all the things he’s spent the past hour trying to avoid.

Lip must see something in his face, though, because he smiles slightly and shifts so he can step toward Ian. He settles his hands on Ian’s shoulders and peers up at him – and isn’t that funny? When had Ian gone from being Lip’s little brother, constantly looking up at him, to towering over him?

Ian’s breath catches in his throat.

 _He’s not ready to leave. He’s never had to leave his family before – never even really thought about it. Not like this. He’s not ready to leave any of them. He’s not ready to leave_ Lip _. He’s not ready, he’s not ready, he’s not–._

“You’re gonna be okay. You know that, right?”

Ian takes a shaky breath. Shakes his head a little. Not because he thinks Lip’s _wrong_ or anything, but because this is suddenly way too fucking much to handle. He’s never had to be without Lip before. Never been anything more than a couple hours away from him. They’ve always been in the same _city_ , let alone the same fucking _state_.

“Ian.” Lip says, digging his thumbs into Ian’s collarbones to get his attention. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s not like Connecticut’s _that_ far away, man. You got an appointment with your new therapist on Wednesday, you’re gonna be fine.”

And Ian _knows_ this. He does. They’ve both been stable for _years_ , now. He wouldn’t be moving thirteen fucking hours away if that weren’t true. But, still. Lip’s been such an important part of that stability, he’s kinda terrified about leaving him behind.

“Yeah.” Is what he says. Whispers, really. “I know.”

He’s _not_ ready. But he doesn’t have a choice. He agreed to this. Hell, it was partly _his_ fucking idea.

Ian forces himself to look away from Lip to where Liam’s still standing on the sidewalk. “You ready to go?”

Liam bites his lip, casts one last look at the Gallagher house, and then nods. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Lip nods, and now it’s his turn to let out a shaky breath. He turns to Liam and smiles at him, holding out his arms. It takes Liam a second to react, but then he’s launching himself into Lip’s arms with so much force that they stumble back a couple steps. Ian watches the way Lip holds Liam against his chest, sees how he presses his lips to the top of Liam’s head and starts rocking him a little. Like Liam’s a toddler all over again, and Lip’s trying his best to protect him from the whole fucking world.

Ian blinks quickly when he hears Lip’s whispered “I love you.”

Lip should be his guardian.

Not Ian.

Hell, if Fiona had stuck around to do what she’d signed up for, then this wouldn’t be a problem in the first place. But she hadn’t. So. Here they are. Lip, already at his limit with running the Gallagher house, fostering Xan, and finding out Tami’s pregnant, and Ian, twenty-two years old and Liam’s newly appointed legal guardian.

It’s a whole… well, ‘mess’ doesn’t even really begin to cover it.

He’s suddenly really fucking thankful that they’d said their goodbyes to everyone else last night because he’s not sure he’d be able to handle this otherwise. He sniffs as Lip lets Liam go and gently pushes him towards the car. Liam ducks his head as he brushes past Ian to get to the passenger door, and Ian reaches out to give his shoulder a quick squeeze.

“Starting to see why Fiona just took off.” Ian says when Liam’s in the car, squinting against the early morning sun.

“Why? You saying you _didn’t_ want that party?” Lip asks, mouth pulling up into a small smile. He scratches at his cheek, before sighing and stepping forward to wrap his arms around Ian’s shoulders.

Ian, for his part, sinks into it. Like, he just lets himself fall into it and tucks his face into the crook of Lip’s neck, just like he does every other time they hug. He’s been doing it since he was a kid, he’s not about to stop now. Lip is solid and warm against him, smelling of cigarette smoke and their cheap laundry detergent, and Ian really doesn’t wanna pull away. Doesn’t wanna take that final step.

Eventually, though, he knows he has to. He feels a little better when it becomes obvious that Lip doesn’t wanna let go, either. He pulls back enough to look Lip in the eye and tries for a smile. They don’t say it. _I love you_. They’ve never really had to. Ian’s never really even seen the _point_. The idea that Lip _doesn’t_ just… doesn’t make sense. Ian has never, not for a single second in his entire goddamn life, doubted that Lip loves him.

“Go on. Get outta here.” Lip says, reluctantly clapping Ian on the shoulders before he takes a step back. “Hey, Ian? Keep me updated, yeah?”

Ian nods and rubs at his nose. “Yeah, I’ll text you when we hit Cleveland.”

Lip lets out a huff of air, nods slowly, and then steps up onto the sidewalk. He kicks at Ian’s leg slightly as he opens the door and climbs behind the steering wheel. Liam looks up from his phone as Ian settles down next to him and offers him a tiny smile.

“You got the map?” Ian asks, bending over the console so he can slip the key in the ignition.

“Uh huh.” Liam says, and Ian catches him waving his phone from the corner of his eye.

It takes a couple tries for the car to start, and Ian’s on the verge of just hotwiring the fucking thing when the engine _finally_ kicks in. Lip laughs at him through the open window, and Liam’s smile grows a little.

“You sure you’re gonna get there in that piece of shit?”

“Maybe not. Guess there’s only one way to find out, huh?” Ian says with a grin. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel and then glances quickly up at Lip. “Could always take a leaf outta Jimmysteve’s book.”

Lip laughs again and taps his hand on the top of the car. “Yeah, okay. Just… promise me you’re not gonna end up married to the daughter of a Brazilian mob boss, alright?”

Ian hums thoughtfully. “Daughter? No. Son? Eh… I can’t make that promise, man. Depends if he’s got a yacht.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Lip says, smiling. He hits the car again. “Better get outta here if you wanna beat the traffic.”

Ian snorts out a laugh and finally shifts gear, his foot tapping lightly on the gas. “Alright, alright. We’re going.”

He gently pulls away from the curb. It’s not like there’s anything in the way, but he doesn’t trust this car not to break down at the smallest inconvenience. He wants to be at least three streets over before that happens.

“Bye!” Lip calls out. “Try not to get busted for car theft. I won’t be there to talk you out of it.”

Ian shakes his head and takes one hand off the wheel so he can flip Lip off through the window. Liam twists in his seat so he can lean out of his open window and wave at Lip. When they turn the corner at the end of the street, Ian puts his hand back on the wheel and frowns over at Liam.

“Seatbelt, bud.”

Liam groans, but does as he’s told. “You need the map yet?”

Ian’s mouth twitches, but he keeps his eyes focused on the road. It’s a Saturday, but it’s still early enough that there isn’t that much traffic on the roads yet. Not that he’s expecting that to last for very long. But he still wants to be as far out of the city as he can get before that changes. He doesn’t feel like spending the next five hours stuck in _Chicago_ , thanks.

“Nah, I’m good for now.” Ian says.

And he is.

For the first time in a long time, he really is.

_*_

_twenty-ninth_

It’s mid-afternoon – really closer to evening – when Ian pulls up in front of the mailbox signalling their new drive. And that’s pretty fucking weird in itself. That they _have_ a drive. They have a _drive_ and a _yard_ , and they aren't surrounded by other houses on every side. Ian doesn't even know where their neighbour's house _is_. He glances over at where Liam is fast asleep in the passenger’s seat – head tilted back against the headrest, mouth open as he snores lightly – and fights a yawn of his own. He’s ready to pass out for the next twelve hours, he’s so goddamn tired.

With a sigh, he reaches over to gently shake Liam awake. Liam wakes up slowly, digging his pointer fingers into his eyes and then blinking against the sun streaming in through the windshield. He doesn’t say anything when he frowns over at Ian, but the confusion is clear, and Ian smiles a little.

“We’re here.” He points at the mailbox – it’s an old, grey thing that looks like it might have been painted blue once, and the house number is so faded it’s barely visible. “Thought you might wanna be awake for this part.”

Liam’s clearly still half asleep because all he does is nod and lifts his legs up so he can hug his knees. He rests his cheek against them and stares out the window. Ian takes a deep breath and slowly puts his foot back on the gas, inching off the road and onto their _drive_ , holy _shit_.

The drive itself isn’t much more than a mud track surrounded by trees. It’ll probably be hell when it rains, but for now, in the dead of summer, it’s thankfully rock-solid underneath the wheels. Ian takes his time – the last thing he needs is to hit a pothole wrong and make the car even more unusable than it already is – and keeps a careful eye on the road.

After a minute or two, they start getting flashes of the house through the trees, and Ian smiles again. At first, it’s not much more than glimpses of pale green wooden panelling, and dark brown roof. But as they get closer, rounding a gentle curve in the road, it becomes a lot more than that. Two stories, a decent sized porch with an outdoor couch shoved into the corner, a front door that is completely off-centre from the porch steps.

Ian slows down, almost to a crawl, and parks the car slightly to the right of the stairs. When he’s turned the engine off and pulled the key from the ignition, he huffs out a heavy breath and turns to raise his eyebrows at Liam.

“What d’you think? It’s not too bad, right?”

Liam studies the house for a minute, his eyebrows drawn into a light frown as he thinks. He hums. “Eh, I can live with it.”

Ian laughs, and opens his door. He sighs in relief as he stands up straight and stretches his legs for the first time since they left DuBois. “Good, ‘cause we’re gonna be here a while.”

He hears the other door open and then slam shut as Liam gets out. The sound of sneakers scuffing across the dirt as he rounds the hood of the car and comes to a stop in front of Ian. He stares up at Ian, unblinking.

“You really think we’re gonna like it here?”

Ian places his hands on Liam’s shoulders, a move he’s seen Lip do a thousand times, and nods. “Yeah. I really think we will. And hey, even if we don’t, then it’s for a year, alright? It’s not forever.”

Liam sways towards him, skinny arms wrapping around Ian’s waist and squeezing as hard as he can. Ian huffs out a laugh and settles a hand on the top of Liam’s head. They stay like that for a little while, and Ian doesn’t know about Liam, but he uses the time to just listen. It’s so quiet here, so… peaceful, in a way the South Side has never been. It’s a little unsettling, honestly.

Liam shifts, pulling back slightly, and Ian lets him go with a small smile. Hands still on Liam’s shoulders, he slowly spins him around and points at the house.

“Key’s under the welcome mat.”

As Liam rushes off to go and find it, Ian shoves his hands in his back pockets and rocks back on his heels. He glances around the clearing, hears a bird chirp in one of the nearby trees, and takes a deep breath in through his nose. This is it. For better or worse, this is their life for the next year. Away from Chicago, away from his old job, away from -. Well, away from everything he knows, is the point.

“Ian, come on!”

Ian shakes his head. Whatever. He's got more important things to do right now than think about the future. Or the past, for that matter.

“Coming!”


	2. august

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloooooooo, long time (one month) no see. how you all doing?? well, i hope. sorry this took so long, i was writing ian's pov and that is SOMETHING of a struggle for me. also lowkey convinced i failed spectacularly at pulling it off but this chapter is 22k i'm not writing it again <3 there are probably a bunch of errors in the second half of this that i will clean up when i spot them, because i'm just desperate to get this out :)
> 
> as usual, shoutout to my absolute favourite people: [willa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oforamuse), [michelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/statichearts) and [taylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boneached) i love you all

_first_

“I’ll see you at the same time next week, then, Ian!”

Ian nods at Dr Haddon one last time and offers her a small smile as he lets her office door finally ease shut behind him. The reception area is small and cramped, so he spots Liam pretty much immediately, curled up in the corner as he is, his knees drawn up so he can rest his book against them. He’s so deeply engrossed in what he’s reading that he doesn’t even notice when Ian shuffles over to him.

Kicking his chair leg makes Liam jump slightly, and Ian’s smile grows into a grin. “You ready to get outta here?”

Liam nods quickly and dogears the page he’s on before closing the book. Ian catches a glimpse of the cover and scoffs – it’s a beat up old copy of a _Percy Jackson_ book and the only reason they even _have_ it is because Lip “borrowed” it from the school library in fourth grade – as Liam hands it over for him to tuck into his backpack.

“It go okay?” Liam asks, voice edging on the side of timid like he’s not sure he’s allowed to.

That’s the way it always goes when they talk about this shit, though. Like, if they talk quietly enough the bipolar won’t hear them. Won’t rear its ugly head for a little while longer. It’s the same way they always talk about Lip’s sobriety. As if not talking about it is gonna make it all go away.

Ian’s still smiling, but it settles back down into something small, something he saves only for his family, and he reaches out to squeeze Liam’s shoulder. “Yeah, bud, it went okay. Pretty good, honestly.”

It’s not even a lie. Not really. A slight stretch of the truth, maybe, but it’s not a lie. He just doesn’t really feel like explaining the intricacies of introductory therapy sessions to an eight-year-old. Not that it really matters, because Liam still studies him through narrowed eyes for a couple seconds.

“Okay. Can we go now?”

Ian laughs, this small huff of a thing, and offers Liam a hand so he can pull him to his feet. While he settles the straps of his backpack across his shoulders, Liam straightens the hem of his shirt and rubs a hand over the back of his head. When he’s satisfied, Ian nudges Liam towards the reception’s main door and lets out a small sigh when he pauses to wave at the receptionist behind the desk.

Liam heaves the door open and Ian catches it before it has a chance to start closing. He holds it open long enough for the both of them to slip out, and catches it again for the old man approaching them. They offer each other a small, polite, smile. His therapist’s office is at the end of the corridor, so Ian follows Liam down it towards the cramped elevator bay. They’re on the third floor of a tiny little office building that’s ended up squashed in between some hipster coffee place with a light green bonsai tree for a logo, and a thrift store he could smell from the fucking _sidewalk_.

“Where d’you wanna go first?” Ian asks, leaning a shoulder against the cracked wall as he watches Liam press the call button.

Liam wipes his hand off on his pants and shrugs. “Where have we gotta go?”

“Well,” Ian says, raising his eyebrows and chewing on the inside of his bottom lip as he shifts his weight against the wall so he’s slightly more comfortable, “we gotta hit up Costco at some point. Try out a couple thrift stores, maybe. Get food, ‘cause I dunno about you, but I’m kinda hungry.”

The elevator finally crawls its way up to their floor, the doors creaking open in a way that really doesn’t sound healthy. Ian tugs Liam out of the way, just in case anyone wants to get out first, but there isn’t much point because it’s empty. With a small push, he guides Liam into the elevator and then presses the button for the first floor.

“Do we have to?” Liam frowns up at him as the doors slide back shut. “Go to Costco, I mean?”

‘Slide’ is something of an exaggeration. They creak and groan their way closed, and Ian huffs out a relieved sigh when the elevator jerks into motion. He’s not scared of small spaces or anything, but this elevator is a little on the snug side and he doesn’t completely trust it not to break. Still, even if it _did_ , they’d only drop two floors. That would… probably be fine.

“Yeah, we do.” Ian laughs at the way Liam groans, and slides his hand up to squeeze his shoulder. “Can’t live off Eggos forever, man.”

“Why not?” Liam pouts at him for a couple seconds, before leaning his weight against Ian’s side. “That girl in Stranger Things did it for, like, a whole year.”

Ian tugs on his hair lightly, snorting softly when he slaps at Ian’s hand. “Last time I checked, bud, El wasn’t real. You are, though, so. No more Eggos, okay.”

“Fine.”

The elevator stops on the second floor, and Ian pulls Liam further into his side as a harassed looking middle-aged guy with thinning mousy brown hair and a permanent stoop to his shoulders steps inside. He doesn’t look at either of them as he shuffles over to the other back corner, but Ian tries to subtly shift so he’s standing in between them anyway. The guy hasn’t even _done_ anything, and Ian knows that he’s probably harmless.

But. Well. Therapy. Kinda makes him a little anxious.

By some unspoken rule, they ride the rest of the way to the first floor in silence. Ian waits until the other guy is long gone, the faint smell of old sweat and mint gum trailing after him, before leading Liam back out onto the street. He’s sweating a little himself, and he squint against the early afternoon sun glaring down on them. He briefly curses himself for leaving his sunglasses in the car, but it had been overcast when they’d parked this morning, and he hadn’t thought he would need them.

So, he shields his eyes against the sun as best he can with a palm cupped over his eyes and glances down at Liam. “Where d’you wanna go for lunch?”

Liam takes three steps down the sidewalk and then turns back to give Ian an unimpressed look over his shoulder. “Chipotle. Duh.”

Ian huffs out a laugh, shakes his head slowly, and follows after him.

By the time they get back to the house – their home now, really, Ian’s gotta start getting used to calling it that – it’s just gone five fifteen and he is super fucking tired. Tired enough to consider ordering takeout, at least. He debates with himself about it as he gets Liam to take their groceries inside – _without_ Eggos, no matter how many times Liam had tried to sneak them into the cart. They could order takeout, maybe pizza, and then Ian won’t have to think about shit like calorie intake, or whether Liam’s eating enough vegetables, or whether he’s eating enough _at all_.

Except he’ll do all of those things because he is constantly aware of how badly he could fuck this whole thing up, _thank you_.

Still. Pizza. They’re half an hour outside of Hartford, on a _good_ day and no traffic. So, they’re an hour and a half outside of Hartford. Which means the chances of decent takeout are… slim. Probably best they _don’t_ get takeout. At least, not until Ian’s had a chance to figure out what’s good around here.

Ian sighs and readjusts his grip on the coffee table that he’s wrestling out of the trunk. It’s old and heavily scuffed in places, but he’d picked it up from the third thrift store he’d dragged Liam into for, like, twenty bucks. The house hadn’t exactly been fully furnished when they got here, and Ian has spent the past two days trying to come up with a list of shit that they’re gonna need.

It’s all boring shit like a wardrobe for Liam’s room, and a bedside table for Ian, and new dining chairs because the ones they were left with are super wobbly. He’s doing his best to be sensible about it all because he’s got responsibilities and shit now. Responsibilities he never fucking _asked_ for, sure, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less real. And, yeah, okay, he hadn’t made it any easier on himself by moving them out here when they could’ve just as easily stayed in Chicago.

But after his split with Trevor, he had needed a fresh start. Something different. Somewhere where no one knows him, and he can just… breath. It’s not _Ian’s_ fault that Fiona had also decided it was the perfect time to fuck off to who knows where, and leave them all scrambling to pick up the pieces. It’s not even like he can hold the getting out thing against her, but at least he’d told them he was going _months_ before he actually did it.

When he’d said he needed to get away and do something different for a while, he hadn’t exactly been talking about becoming Liam’s legal guardian. But, well. Now here he is, isn’t he? Still, the ten thousand dollars in his pocket is pretty nice. Even if he _is_ struggling not to spend it all on really dumb shit.

The only thing really stopping him is his last lapse in judgement permanently etched onto his shoulder. Well, that and he refuses to dip into Liam’s cut of the fifty grand, so it’s not like he’s got an endless supply of cash to work with. That shit’s gonna stay untouched for as long as Ian can manage. There might not be a whole lot he can actually do for Liam, but he’s gonna make fucking _sure_ he’s got something to fall back on when he’s older. He’s not gonna have it like any of the rest of them did. Things are gonna be _better_ for Liam. And Franny. And Xan. And Lip’s baby, when they’re born.

There’s a noise from the porch, and Ian glances up to find Liam standing on the top step, frowning over at him.

“You need me to get anything else?”

Ian rests the end of the coffee table on the ground and leans his weight on it. He studies the inside of the trunk for a couple seconds and then turns back to Liam.

“Think you can carry those two lamps inside? You don’t have to take ‘em far, just get ‘em inside the front door, okay?”

Liam nods and jumps down the three steps in one go. He hurries over to the car and brushes past Ian as he leans into the trunk to grab the two lamps Ian had been talking about. One of them is a floor lamp, taller than Liam is by… a lot. Ian snorts softly to himself as Liam stumbles back towards the house, the base of the floor lamp dragging against the ground as he goes.

Ian watches him for a moment or two, and he doesn’t even try to stop himself from smiling. When Liam is at the foot of the stairs, Ian sighs again and looks back down at the coffee table. It’s not particularly big, or anything, but it’s heavy. He shifts his grip a little, so the legs aren’t digging as painfully into his biceps and starts heaving the table towards the house.

Pizza’s looking pretty fucking great, right now.

Ian doesn’t order takeout in the end. He _does_ manage to scrounge up a pizza from the freezer, though. Which is, admittedly. nowhere near as good, sure, but on the plus side it had only cost like three bucks instead of twenty. It’s Hawaiian, which isn’t either of their favourites, but they’d been on offer at the time. Still, at least Liam doesn’t waste time picking the pineapple off like Carl, or bitch about the taste of processed cheese like Debbie.

He _is_ picking at the slice on his plate, though, and Ian frowns at him from his spot on the opposite end of the couch. There’s a movie playing on the TV in the corner, but Ian hasn’t actually been paying any attention to what’s going on. He _thinks_ it’s a superhero one, although he has no idea which one. Chris Evans is in it, but that’s not really saying much. Chris Evans is in _everything_. Not that Ian’s complaining, or anything, but. Y’know.

Ian’s got his legs stretched out across two couch cushions because he can, the new floor lamp on behind him as he lazily flicks through the book he’s reading at the moment. Liam’s curled up in a ball in the corner, so it’s not like he’s getting in the way of Ian’s legs anyway. Ian shifts a little so he can nudge Liam in the thigh with his toes. When he doesn’t get an immediate response, he does it again. And again. Until Liam lets out a frustrated huff and looks at him.

Ian smiles and jerks his chin at the plate in Liam’s lap. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, really?” Ian asks, looking pointedly at where Liam’s aimlessly shredding congealing cheese with his fingers. “Nothing, huh?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Ian shifts, leaning sideways so he can dump his plate on the corner of their new coffee table, before focussing all of his attention on Liam. “Something’s bothering you, right? ‘Course it’s important. You can tell me, y’know that, right?”

Liam doesn’t say anything for a long time, seconds stretching into minutes of just the TV filling the silence. Ian’s just starting to think about clearing up their dishes – or at least putting them in the sink to deal with later – when Liam talks again.

“Are you mad?”

Ian pauses. He’s got one foot on the floor, and he’s bent at an awkward angle trying to hook his fingers around his now-empty glass of orange juice. Sitting up straight makes his back click in ways he doesn’t wanna think about and he tries his best not to wince.

“About what?”

Liam goes quiet again for a couple seconds, chewing on the inside of his bottom lip as he thinks. “About… looking after me? I know you didn’t want to.”

Ian feels his heart sink, and he scoots across the couch so he can tentatively place a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “It’s… complicated.”

“How?”

“Well,” Ian says, squeezing his shoulder, “I guess I _am_ mad about it. But I’m not mad at _you_ . I could never be mad at _you_ , Liam, this isn’t your fault.”

Liam hums quietly, and plucks at the hem of his shirt. “Does that mean you’re mad at Fiona?”

Ian doesn’t answer him immediately. He’s not really sure _how_ to answer that. Still, he’s never lied to Liam, and he doesn’t really wanna start now. So, he ducks his head and clears his throat.

“Yeah. I guess I am. A little.”

“Because you have to take care of me now?”

Ian shakes his head quickly. “Never. I’m mad that she just… left us, without telling us she wanted to go. I’m mad that she didn’t take you with her. I’m mad that she never really tells us where she is. But I’m not mad at _you_ , okay?”

Liam doesn’t really look like he believes Ian, which is okay. He might not believe him _now_ , but Ian’s answer isn’t gonna change, so he can ask as many times as he needs to.

“You want some ice cream?”

The nod he gets in response is so enthusiastic it makes Ian laugh a little bit, and he squeezes Liam’s shoulder again as he pushes himself to his feet. The dishes clatter together as he gathers them into a stack and balances his glass on the top of it all.

He raises his eyebrows at Liam. “Wish me luck, huh?”

Liam snorts softly, which he counts as a win. Ian nods and shuffles towards the kitchen, leaving Liam to watch the movie on his own. After a lifetime of living in their family home, the layout of this house is taking some getting used to, and the fact that Ian can’t see into the living room from the kitchen still catches him off guard. It’s been less than a week, it shouldn’t be surprising that he’s still getting used to shit. But, well, Ian has always been quick at adapting to the shit life likes to throw at him – for the most part – and it’s kinda pissing him off that he isn’t used to this new place yet.

It’s not… completely unlike their home back in Chicago, though. The basic layout of the kitchen is pretty much the same, actually. The stove is against the back wall and tucked beside the fridge here, though, and the cabinets aren’t falling apart. Oh, and they don’t have a microwave yet. But other than that, it’s more or less the same. They’ve even got an island counter that leads onto their kitchen table – the one with the rickety chairs, and the nicks in the varnish from years, _lifetimes_ , of use.

Ian dumps the dishes in the sink and just lets himself _breathe_ for a second. There aren’t any drapes on the kitchen window yet and he stares out into the backyard. It’s still light outside, the sun dancing through the trees lining the yard, and he watches a black bird hop through the slightly overgrown grass. It hops up onto a fallen tree branch that Ian knows he’s gonna have to do something about at some point, and then something he can’t see must startle it because it shoots off into he sky in a flurry of feathers.

He’s in the middle of rinsing out his glass so he can get a drink of water when his phone rings. He curses under his breath as water splashes over his hand and onto the counter, and hastily places the glass on the counter so he can fish his phone out of his back pocket. Using the hem of his t-shirt to mop up most of the water, his frown melts away when he reads the caller ID.

Lip.

He smiles and swipes his thumb over the answer button. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hello to you too.” Lip laughs, and it’s only been a couple days since they last saw each other in person, instead of talking through text messages, but _fuck_ Ian has missed the sound of his voice.

“I said ‘hey’.” Ian protests, turning around so he can lean back against the counter.

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” The train of a train screeching to a halt makes Lip pause for a few seconds. “You doing okay?”

“Now who’s skipping the small talk.” Ian teases. He runs a hand through his hair and grimaces – it’s getting a little too long for his liking, which means he’s gonna have to either find somewhere to get it cut or do it himself, and neither of those ideas sound great.

“ _I_ _an_.”

“ _Lip._ ”

“You actually gonna answer my question or just be a dick?” Lip asks, but he doesn’t really sound annoyed.

Ian hums, pretending to think about it, and snorts at the resigned sigh Lip lets out. “We’re okay. The place needs work, but we’re not gonna die or anything.”

“Good.” Ian can practically picture the way he nods, and the thought of it makes him smile again. “Liam okay?”

Ian takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “He’s… He thinks I’m mad at him.”

Lip scoffs. “If you were actually mad at him, he wouldn’t need to _think_ it. He’d know.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ian laughs and scratches at his jaw. “Nah, he’s got it in his head that I’m mad about having to take care of him now. Which is dumb, y’know, ‘cause I’d never be mad at _him_ for that. S’not his fault.”

“You tell him that?”

“Of course, I did. A few times, actually. Don’t think he really believes me, though.”

“Just… give him some time.” Lip says, getting cut off a little when the sound of the train picks back up again. “…nyway, how’d the meeting with your new therapist go?”

Ian recognises the change of subject for what it is, and latches onto it. “Good. I think she’s gonna be good for me, y’know? I mean, we didn’t really _talk_ about much, obviously, but I liked her.”

“That’s great, right? Better than that old guy you used to have, anyway.”

“Doctor Foster?” Ian snorts. “Not like that’s fucking _hard_ , y’know? Guy was a total asshole.”

“This new doctor say anything about your meds?”

Once upon a time that question would’ve pissed Ian off, made him feel like he was being hemmed in and nagged. Like he couldn’t be trusted. Like he wasn’t a grown adult capable of looking after himself.

He’s glad he’s not that person anymore. Because now? Now the question makes him feel warm, and settled, and loved. Like he has people in his corner who actually _care_ about him. Who want him to be okay for his own sake.

“Not really. She seemed pretty happy with them, to be honest. I–.” A noise in the kitchen door draws his attention and he pauses long enough to see Liam come wandering in. He gives him a questioning look.

Liam shrugs. “You’ve been gone for ages.”

“Sorry, bud. Talking to Lip.”

Liam’s face perks up at that and Ian can’t stop himself from laughing.

“You wanna talk to him?” He asks, raising his eyebrows at Liam and waving his phone a little.

Liam nods and holds out his hand.

“Gonna hand you over to Liam, okay?”

“Sure.” Lip says, and Ian can _hear_ the smile in his voice. “Hey, wait, before you go, I wanted to ask you something. I know the answer’s probably gonna be no, but have you had a chance to check out that diner yet? Talk to the owner?”

“Not yet. Got too caught up trying to fix this place up.” Ian says, a little guilty because he _has_ been meaning to. He holds up a finger when Liam makes an impatient noise. “Planning on going sometime this week, though.”

“There’s no rush, man. I just wondered, ‘cause he didn’t mention it last time I talked to him, either, that’s all.”

“You’ll be the first person I tell when I do it, okay?”

“I better be.” Lip says. Then he snorts. “You gonna pass me over to Liam, or what, asshole?”

“Fuck you, I was _trying_.”

“Excuses, excuses. Hey, I’ll text you later, alright?”

“You mean I’ve gotta talk to you _more_?” Ian tries to complain, but he starts laughing before he can finish.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you. Gimme to Liam.”

Ian slips the phone into Liam’s hand and sees the way his little brother immediately launches into conversation with Lip. He laughs for what feels like the first time in _days_ , and it makes Ian’s heart ache a little. Ian watches him for a couple seconds longer before he shakes his head and goes to get the tub of strawberry cheesecake ice cream out of the freezer.

*

_third_

It’s not like he has a whole lot going on at the moment, so the conversation with Lip plays on his mind over the next couple days. All of it does, really – the stuff with Liam, his new therapist – but the part that he keeps coming back to is going to meet the guy who runs the biggest diner in town. Ian’s passed it, once or twice, the few times he’s actually bothered to go into town so far. Lip hasn’t really told him all that much about the guy, other than that they’re roughly the same age, and that he can be a grumpy asshole.

That’s probably why it takes him until Friday morning to finally work up the nerve to introduce himself. Just so he can get it over with. He’s gonna be _working_ with the guy, for fuck sake, it’s not like he can _ignore_ it. But the longer he leaves it, the less he wants to actually _do_ it.

The next year just needs to be… calm? Uneventful? Relaxed?

He needs the next year to be as drama free as fucking possible. Which means he _can’t_ go pissing off his new boss before he even starts working at the diner. Lip might just kill him if he does.

So, he wakes up at, like, eight a.m. on Friday and decides that today is the day. He’s gonna do it. Introduce himself. To his new boss. Who may, or may _not_ , be an asshole.

Liam is about as enthusiastic about doing this as Ian is when he wakes him up. He peaks blearily at Ian over the top of his sheets when he opens his bedroom door. He audibly groans when Ian tells him to get up.

“Come on,” Ian wheedles, scuffing worn socks against the threadbare carpet and jumping a little when it sends static shooting up his leg, “I’ll buy you breakfast.”

Liam huffs, pushing his sheets down so they’re lying across his waist and flips onto his back so he can stare up at the ceiling. After a few quiet moments of Ian watching him expectantly, he sighs.

“Do I get to pick?”

Ian nods. “Sure.”

Liam pretends to think about it for a couple seconds, before swinging his legs over the side of his bed and climbing to his feet. He gives Ian an unimpressed look when he doesn’t immediately move out of his doorway.

“You gonna watch me the whole time? That’s kinda weird.”

Ian flips him off and shakes his head with a smile. “Don’t take too long, okay? I wanna get this over with as fast as possible.”

When Liam’s expression doesn’t change, Ian laughs and ducks out of the doorway. He shuffles back down the hallway to the stairs, taking them two at a time and jumping the last step. There’s already a small mountain of shoes just inside the front door and he knows that someday soon he’s gonna need to find a solution to that particular problem that isn’t just throwing more onto the pile. But for now, all he does is root through them until he finds a matching pair of sneakers.

They’re not _new_ by any means, but at least they don’t have a hole in the toe like some of his others. He’s still wrestling the left one on – because he outright _refuses_ to undo the laces, fuck you very much – when Liam appears at the top of the stairs, dressed and ready to go.

Ian gives him a critical once over and raises an eyebrow. “You brush your teeth?”

Liam starts walking down the stairs, hand trailing along the handrail, and he visibly rolls his eyes. “ _Y_ _es._ ”

Ian raises the other eyebrow, like he’s not sure he really believes Liam, and grins a little when he gets a huff in response.

“I _did_.”

“Front and back? Top to bottom? Two full minutes?”

He laughs loudly when Liam shoves him. He’s way too small for it to really _do_ anything, but Ian still steps out of the way so he can find his own pair of shoes. As Liam digs through the pile, Ian fishes his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and taps one out.

“I’ll be on the porch, okay?”

Liam nods, clearly not really paying attention to him, and Ian edges around him so he can open the front door. It’s early enough that it’s still pretty cool outside, but despite the slight chill, Ian can tell it’s gonna be hot today. There’s a humidity in the air that sticks to his skin and makes him a little uncomfortable. He does his best to ignore it, choosing instead to lean against the porch railing and stare up at the sky as he tries to light his cigarette. It takes a couple tries, long fingers cupped over the end of it to protect it from an almost non-existent breeze.

He spends the next two or three minutes in silence, slowly working his way through the cigarette as he watches the world go by. By the time Liam steps outside and closes the door behind him, Ian’s almost down to its butt, and he takes one final drag before tossing it over the railing into the bushes.

“You lock the door?” Ian asks him because that feels like the kinda thing they should actually be _doing_ now.

Seeing as _he_ has both copies of the key, he already knows the answer, but there’s something about watching Liam slowly shake his head that makes him smile. He holds out a copy of the key and waits until Liam’s locked the door to start down the porch steps.

Ian doesn’t bother trying to walk quickly – he’s had a lifetime of measuring his steps for people shorter than he is, and at this point he just slows down automatically – and a few seconds later Liam’s caught up with him. They walk in silence for a little while before Liam speaks.

“Do we _have_ to walk?”

Ian glances down at him and snorts. “Yeah. We’re walking.”

“But why?”

“Because,” Ian says, kicking at Liam’s grubby sneakers, “it’s only gonna take, like… fifteen minutes to get there, tops.”

“Gross.” Liam says, but he doesn’t seems to really mind because he kicks back at Ian and then hurries on ahead so Ian can’t retaliate.

Ian rolls his eyes but follows after him without complaint.

The walk into town is actually pretty easy, and it only takes them just over ten minutes to reach the outskirts. Ian’s never really spent much time away from Chicago, outside of a few rare weekends away with ROTC in high school, so he’s not exactly used to there being a whole lot of… nothing. Oh, sure, Stars Hollow is nice to look at, or whatever, and if he knew anything about architecture then he might even be able to appreciate how old some of these buildings are. Then again, he could just call Fiona’s old boyfriend, Ford, and ask him. He’d definitely know, that’s all the guy ever seemed to actually be interested in.

A large square of grass sits in what Ian assumes is the town centre. At the very least, it’s where all the local businesses seem to be located. So far, the only place Ian has actually gone to is the grocery store, and that had only been because he was desperate for milk one morning. It’s a small place, reminds him a lot of the Kash and Grab, except this store is run by a kind older lady who’d introduced herself as Mrs Doose. Instead of… well. A creep? A predator? A paedophile, even?

It’s not like Ian doesn’t know the terminology. He does. Has had long, _extensive_ , conversations with multiple therapists about it. About what Kash had done to him. About Ned. It’s not a question of Ian being _confused_ about it. Not anymore, at least. But not being confused doesn’t mean that Ian doesn’t still have trouble accepting exactly what Kash had been to him when he was a kid. What Kash is now, too, if he lets himself linger on it. Or the ways that had affected pretty much _everything_ about him.

 _Anyway,_ none of that even matters right now. Or maybe it does, and Ian is just trying to distract himself from the fact he can see the diner Lip’s told him about on the opposite side of the street. He smiles a little when he realises the sign above the door is in the shape of a coffee cup, although it’s so faded and weather-worn that the writing is barely legible. Not that Ian _needs_ it to be, he knows its name.

 _Luke’s_.

Ian slows down as they cross the street, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to look in through the wide bay window, although from the quick glimpse he _does_ get, the place is empty. His hands are shaking slightly as he pulls another cigarette out from his pack and stops on the edge of the sidewalk to light it. He pretends not to notice the way Liam rolls his eyes at him, and jerks his chin at the front door instead.

“Hey, why don’t you go figure out what you want for breakfast? I’ll be a couple minutes.”

Liam doesn’t need to _say_ anything because the eyebrow he raises does it all for him, but he nods and pulls the door open anyway. A bell jingles as he steps inside, and Ian takes a deep drag from his cigarette, hoping against goddamn hope that the nicotine will burn off some of his anxiety.

He hates this. Hates _feeling_ like this. Like his heart has moved several inches to the right so now he can _feel_ the way it beats in his chest, and someone’s tying his stomach in knots, racing against the clock as he tries to undo the damage. Like there’s something crawling up his throat no matter how many times he tries to swallow it back down, and the prickle under his skin _screaming_ at him that something is _wrongwrongwrong_. It’s the thing he hates most about himself now, to be honest. This newfound – or _not_ so newfound, now – hit to his confidence. As a kid it had always felt like the world was truly his oyster. Like he could do _anything_ he wanted to, and it would just… work out for him because he was willing to put in the work to get it.

And now he’s here, twenty-two years old and deliberately wasting time so he doesn’t have to talk to one fucking guy. All because his stupid goddamn brain decided it’s a thing to be worried about. Moving _thirteen hours_ away from home? Yeah, sure, no problem. Talk to the guy who’s gonna be your boss for the next year and who you know has to at least be _okay_ because he’s friends with Lip? Nah, way too scary. Easier to just ignore it until the problem goes away, right?

Ian blows a long stream of smoke out the corner of his mouth and throws the smouldering butt of his cigarette down a nearby drain. This is it. No more excuses. Time to suck it the _fuck_ up and act like a normal human being for, like, ten minutes.

Except he has _no_ goddamn clue what to say. ‘Hi, I’m Ian Gallagher. Lip’s brother?’, or maybe, ‘Hey, you’re the guy who knows Lip, right? I’m his brother’, or, ‘I’m Ian, I’m meant to be start working here in a couple weeks, nice to meet you’?

Ian sighs and shakes his head. Stupid. He’s being _stupid_. There’s nothing to fucking worry about because whoever this man is, he is _just_ a guy.

The soles of his sneakers scuff across the sidewalk as he walks over to the diner’s front door. The bell jingles as he slowly pushes the door open and slips inside. The first thing he notices is the smell of coffee, strong and bitter, in the air as the old coffee machine in the back corner gurgles away. He closes his eyes, just for a second, and inhales. They haven’t got around to buying a coffee pot yet, which is fine because, he’s not meant to drink it on his meds _anyway;_ and the lack of caffeine has slowly been killing him.

When he opens his eyes, it’s to find Liam standing at the counter with his hands curled over the edge as he peers into the glass display case. The guy working behind the counter has his back turned to them, fiddling with something beside the coffee pot, and Ian takes a second to just study what little he can see. Not a lot, given the height of the counter, and how short the guy on the other side of it looks.

The sleeveless, dark blue t-shirt he’s wearing is clearly a DIY job, because the edges are fraying a little. He has nice arms, though – Ian’s not so nervous that he doesn’t pick up on _that_ – and he’s really not in a position to judge, but Ian can’t help noticing just how fucking _pale_ he is. Broad shoulders, too, and as he picks up the coffee pot, Ian catches a glimpse of a tattoo on his right forearms. Ian’s nowhere near close enough to see what it says, or anything, but it doesn’t _look_ like it’s in English. Not from this distance, anyway. The baseball cap he’s got perched on his head is on backwards, so it’s kinda hard to tell, but from the flash of hair he sees at the base of his neck, it’s dark.

Fucking Lip. Ian’s not exactly sure _how_ this is Lip’s fault, just yet, but it _is_.

He shoves his hands in his front pockets and sidles up to where Liam’s looking at a bunch of pastries. He bumps their shoulders together as best he can with the height difference and raises an eyebrow when Liam looks up at him.

“You find something?” He asks quietly.

Liam shrugs but points at the plate of croissants sitting behind the glass.

“You sure?” When Liam only nods, Ian frowns at him. “Okay, so long as you’re _sure_.”

He senses the other guy approaching them, but keeps his eyes trained on Liam for a couple seconds longer, silently daring him to change his mind.

“Finally figured out what you want, huh?”

Ian’s breath catches in his throat and whatever he’d been about to say turns to ash on the tip of his tongue.

No.

No _way_.

He _knows_ that voice. He would recognise it _anywhere_. He doesn’t even need to look up to know who’s talking.

But it’s like something takes over and does that for him, because his head _snaps_ up, his spine straightening so he’s standing at his full height. For the first time in… _six years_ he’s staring Mickey fucking Milkovich directly in the eye.

It’s like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room, and suddenly time has stopped and he’s left struggling for breath, and there is _too much_ going on in his head to try and keep track of.

Mickey?

Mickey _Milkovich_?

Here?

 _Seriously_?

The guy Lip has been telling him about, has been talking about for _months_ , is Mickey goddamn _Milkovich_?

Oh, he is gonna fucking _kill_ Lip. Strangle him with his bare hands.

He sees the moment Mickey registers who he is. The way his forehead creases, and the corners of his mouth pull down into a confused frown, and it’s been six years, but he is still one of the most beautiful things Ian’s ever seen. Mickey blinks at him a couple times, like if he tries hard enough, Ian will disappear.

“Gallagher? The fuck?”

There’s a vice around his lungs, squeezing, pinching, squashing the breath out of him and no matter how deeply he tries to inhale it just. won’t. work. He swallows thickly around a suddenly dry throat. Tries to do _something_ because Mickey is staring at him like he’s a fucking alien, or some shit, and Ian needs to _move_.

“I,” he starts, voice catching in his throat before he can even really get started, and he doesn’t even have it in himself to be annoyed about it, “hi?”

Mickey’s eyebrow twitches, the way it always used to whenever he said something Mickey thought was dumb. He looks as shellshocked as Ian feels, which is something, at least. Ian probably shouldn’t be, but he’s glad he isn’t alone in this.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Realisation creeps up over his face seconds later and he closes his eyes on a sigh. “Lip. You’re the ‘friend’ he’s been telling about, right? Fuckin’ ‘course you are.”

Ian tries not to feel the sting of it. It’s been _six years_ since he stood in Mickey’s bedroom doorway, hoping, _praying_ that Mickey would ask him to stay. He’s not that kid anymore, this shouldn’t bother him. It _shouldn’t_. Mickey doesn’t _mean_ anything to him now. What and how he feels about Ian doesn’t _matter_.

But the resignation still stings. The clear dismissal hurts.

Some things really don’t change, huh?

“I can… go?” Ian says, taking a step back and snagging Liam’s shoulder as he moves. “Figure something else out.”

Mickey shakes his head. And now that the panic has calmed a little – barely, it has _barely_ calmed, he wants to _puke_ , holy fucking _shit_ – Ian can study him a little more closely. He looks older, obviously, but the years have been kind to him. Not in the sense that Mickey’s _old_ , or anything, he is, at most, twenty-five. It’s just that he looks… at ease, maybe? In a way he had never really had a chance to be in Chicago.

With Ian.

Ian pushes Liam behind him, shaking his head a little as he starts to turn around, to head back out onto the street. To pick up the pieces of yet another new life.

“Gallagher. _Ian_.” The sound of his name on Mickey’s tongue makes him freeze. Turn his head so he can see Mickey rubbing at his eyebrow. “Don’t.”

Ian’s breath hitches and he squeezes his eyes shut. Takes a deep, shuddering breath. Lets it out.

They’re not teenagers now. They’re _not_. Ian isn’t sixteen years old and desperate for some kind of sign that Mickey even wants him around anymore.

Six years ago, ‘don’t’ hadn’t been enough to get him to stay.

This time? It is. At least for now.

“Okay.” He says on a sigh. Liam looks thoroughly confused at what’s happening, and Ian shakes his head. A promise. An _‘I’ll tell you later'_. “Tell him what you want, bud.”

“Guess that makes _you_ Liam.” Mickey says as Liam cautiously approaches the counter again.

“How did you–” Liam starts to ask, glancing over at Ian in clear confusion, and _fuck_ but he owes the kid one hell of an explanation later.

“I,” Mickey hesitates, eyes flicking up to Ian’s briefly before he surges on, “was around a lot. When you were a kid.”

What little air is left in Ian’s lungs escapes at that, in one short puff that leaves him feeling a little lightheaded. He manages a nod when Liam looks at him again, though, which is kind of a win.

“Oh.” Is all Liam says, and Ian sees Mickey’s eyebrows creep up towards his hairline even as he ducks his head to hide a small smile.

“So, what d’you decide on?” Mickey asks, and it’s kinda weird just how fast he’s gone from being confused as all hell, to sounding like he’s serving any other customer.

But that’s just it, really, isn’t it? They _are_ just customers right now. Sure, okay, maybe it’s a little, a _lot_ , more complicated than that in the grand scheme of things, but right here, in _this_ moment? That’s as simple as it gets.

The thought calms him, a little. Makes things easier. He’s _just_ a customer trying to get some breakfast. That’s all it needs to be. That’s all he needs to _do_ until he can get back out onto the street and call Lip.

Call Lip and ask him what the ever-loving _fuck_ is going on here?

Mickey has apparently come to the same kind of realisation, because when he focuses his attention back on Ian, there’s not a whole lot going on behind the eyes. Like he’s just shut a part of his brain down. Compartmentalisation, or whatever the fuck his therapists call it.

“You want anything?”

Coffee. More than anything.

“Nah, I’m good.” Ian pauses for the briefest second. “Thanks.”

 _Almost_ anything, then.

The rest of their transaction – for the, like, two minutes it takes Mickey to ring them up and give Liam his croissant – is pretty quiet, and Ian doesn’t really know what to do about it. Doesn’t even know where to _start_. There’s… too much? It’s too _heavy_.

He’s thankful when it’s finally over and he can usher Liam back towards the door. He refuses to let himself look back over his shoulder as they step out onto the street, the bell jingling again as he eases the door closed.

Liam tears off a piece of his croissant and offers it to Ian as they start wandering down the street. It’s aimless, neither of them really planning on _going_ anywhere, exactly, but just walking for the sake of walking. Ian tilts his head back, staring up at a sky the colour of forget-me-knots, and pops the croissant into his mouth. It’s flaky, and buttery, and starts to melt in his mouth, and maybe Ian would be willing to suffer through more awkward interactions with _Mickey fucking Milkovich_ if this is the end result.

He brushes the few crumbs still clinging to his fingers off on his thigh and takes a look around. He’s never been on this side of the square before, so he lets himself study a couple of the stores lining the street – a drycleaner’s, a bakery, and a bookstore. The distraction doesn’t work. At all. All he can think, the one thing that he keeps circling back to, that his mind _sticks_ on like a moth drawn to a goddamn flame, is Mickey.

The fact that he’s _here_.

That Lip fucking _knew_ about it – and Ian is gonna have some _words_ with him later, because what the actual _hell_ , Lip?

Ian has no idea how he feels. Has no idea how he’s _supposed_ to feel. Not outside of feeling like his entire world has just been tilted on its axis and everything’s been shifted, like, twenty feet to the left, anyway.

He’s so out of it, he doesn’t even notice that they’ve hit the end of the sidewalk until Liam grabs his arm to stop him from stepping out in front of a car. Ian shakes his head, glances down at where Liam’s small, tiny fingers are curled around his elbow, and tries to give him an apologetic smile.

“You okay? You look kinda weird.” Liam says as he scrunches up the paper bag his croissant had been in and shoves it into his back pocket.

Ian crosses his arms across his chest and squints down at the ground as they wait for the car to move. He’s not entirely sure how to begin explaining this to Liam.

He eventually settles on, “Feel kinda weird.”

Liam hums, but doesn’t look even remotely satisfied. Not that Ian was really expecting him, because that was a super shitty answer. He sighs and jerks his head towards the town square.

“Come on. I’ll… try and explain. Might be bad at it, though.”

“Wonder what that’s like.” Liam snarks back at him, grinning a little when Ian reaches out to shove at his shoulder.

Ian huffs out a tired laugh, though. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck you, too.”

Once the car is gone, Ian leads the way across the street and into the square. There’s a gazebo at the other end, closer to the diner than Ian would like, so he turns in the other direction. It’s not exactly big, or anything, but they walk slowly. Barely more than a crawl, really.

Ian takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. Breathes in again. “So, that… that was Mickey.”

“I got that.” Liam says, like _Ian_ is the one who’s being stupid. He’s probably right. “But I don’t… know… who he _is_?”

And it’s not like Ian’s expecting Liam to remember who Mickey is, really. He’d been so fucking _young_ when Ian and Mickey were… whatever they’d been. Ian’s never really been sure. For a while it had felt a lot like being boyfriends, but. _Well_. Besides, it’s not like when they were… _whatever_ , Mickey ever actually hung out at Ian’s house. It was all late nights at the dugouts, and sneaking moments together whenever they could get time alone, and feeling so fucking _happy_ all the time. Like, the scope of it, the _power_ of his happiness, could rival the goddamn _sun_. Letting himself think, just for a _moment_ , that he could be in love.

And then it had all come crashing down, and none of those things had been true anymore.

So, no. It’s not like Ian really expects Liam to remember Mickey. But Liam _saying_ as much stings a little bit.

And it feels weird, to try and explain. To put what they _were_ and _are_ and have _always been_ into words.

Ian was Mickey’s dirty little secret for so long that it’s almost as if he’s breaking some unspoken rule in telling Liam. In _admitting_ to Liam just what they were. What they had done. Who they had _been_. He’s never just… told anyone before. Not for the sake of telling, anyway.

He tries to keep it as simple as he can, to talk around the parts no one else should ever know. To try and reduce just how big and scary and important his relationship with Mickey had been into a few minutes.

Eventually reduces it down to: “When you were a baby, we kinda… dated for a while. But we didn’t tell anyone, ‘cause. Well. His dad is _Terry Milkovich_. It didn’t really work out, though, obviously, and we… broke up? Just before I joined the army.”

He doesn’t mention Svetlana, or the wedding, or his first real manic episode. Or anything that had come after, or that by the time Ian had finished picking up the pieces of his own fucking _life_ , Mickey was long gone and no one knew where he was.

In a move completely uncharacteristic of a Gallagher, Liam doesn’t say anything as he talks. He just lets Ian get it all out, and Ian’s not really sure how or when Liam became this mature, of it it’s even a _good_ thing. He’s eight, for fuck sake. But, good or not, he’s glad of it. Glad to just… _say_ it.

God knows if he’d tried to do this with Fiona, she would have _plenty_ to say. So would Lip, probably, even though he knows more than anyone else ever will.

And suddenly he’s gone full circle, hasn’t he? Back around again to part of his current problem.

Fucking _Lip_.

Who sent him here. Knowing _everything_.

Ian is going to _kill_ him.

Why didn’t he _tell him_? If he knew where Mickey was this whole time, why did he never _say_ anything?

He needs to talk to him. Yell at him, maybe. Probably.

Ian fishes his phone out of his back pocket and huffs in frustration when his hand gets caught on a beltloop. Liam watches him, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

“Gonna rip Lip a new one.” Ian says as he scrolls through his contact list.

Lip’s not gonna pick up. Not this early; he’s either still asleep or he’s on the way to work. That doesn’t stop Ian from pressing the call button, though. He runs a hand over Liam’s hair as they carry on walking, waiting for the voicemail tone to kick in.

When it does, he squeezes his eyes shut for a second. So hard that he immediately feels the beginning of a headache.

“You’re a fucking _asshole_.” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. He doesn’t really _mean_ to – hadn’t actually _thought_ about what he wanted to say – but as soon as he opens his mouth it just spills out of him in one go. “Mickey _Milkovich_? What the actual _fuck_ , Lip? This all just some big joke to you and you couldn’t even tell me he was here?”

He finally lets himself look over his shoulder, back at the diner. They’re too far away now for him to really see anything specific, but he can just about make out the shape of Mickey behind the counter. He frowns and bites his lip.

“Call me the _fuck_ back, asshole.”

Lip doesn’t call him back until that afternoon. He’s in the middle of helping Liam set up a bookshelf in the alcove beside the fireplace when his phone goes off, and he almost drops the screw he’s holding in place for Liam. He drops it back into the pot of screws, helps Liam lower the shelf they’d been working on back to the ground, and then shuffles over to the coffee table.

The music floating through the shitty, second-hand speaker he’d picked up a couple days ago stops as he runs his thumb over the answer button. Gentle acoustic guitar gives way to deafening silence as he lifts his phone up to his ear and scowls out the living room window.

“Finally went to the diner then, huh?” Lip asks, and honestly _fuck_ him for sounding so amused.

“Yeah, no _shit_.” Ian grumbles. “How long have you even known he was _here_?”

Lip hums, that little noise he makes whenever he’s pretending to think something over, and Ian can picture the face he’s making so clearly in his mind that his chest _aches_ with it.

“Two years? No. Three. Three years.”

Three. Years. _Three years_?

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It’s the question he keeps coming back to. The one thought he cannot get out of his mind. That he can’t explain away.

Lip knew. And didn’t tell him.

“Oh, so, I guess it’s kinda like how you’ve never told _me_ where Mandy is? Like I don’t know you still talk to her sometimes?” Lip asks, and there’s nothing in it, really, except genuine curiosity.

It draws Ian up short. Makes his mind _race_. Switches everything around in his head. Cools off some – not all, of course, but _some_ – of his anger. And he’s not even sure that anger is the right word, honestly. Frustration? Annoyance? Underneath it all, maybe a sliver of understanding? All the arguments he’s spent the day thinking up, all the points he was gonna make, just… disappear.

There’s a part of him that wants to argue that they’re not the same thing. That Ian keeping Mandy a ‘secret’, and she’s not, she _isn’t_ , there was just never a reason to bring her up, isn’t the same as Lip not telling him about Mickey.

But he can’t say that, can he?

He doesn’t _know_ what Lip’s reason is. He doesn’t know _why_ Lip never told him.

Lip sighs in that way of his that Ian _knows_ , as well as he knows anything, means he’s doing that thing where he rubs at his forehead and bites his bottom lip.

“Look, it’s not as if I was trying to hide it, or anything, y’know? Not on purpose. And it’s not like I was… I dunno… getting off on keeping it a secret or anything like that.” He clears his throat a little. “By the time I even knew where he _was_ , it seemed like you’d moved on. Like. You were really _happy_ for a while, y’know? I didn’t wanna fuck that up by saying something. Didn’t even know if you’d care anymore, to be honest.”

And, yeah, okay. Ian can see the logic in that. For a long while there he _had_ been happy, genuinely happy, and he _has_ moved on from whatever the hell they might’ve had when they were kids. His love life right _now_ might be an absolute fucking mess, but he _has_ moved on. He knows himself well enough – has spent a long, _long_ time coming to accept exactly who he is now – to know that if Lip _had_ said something, he would’ve thrown everything else away to chase after Mickey.

He’s not that person anymore.

So, he gets it. Kinda. He’s still mad about the part where Lip didn’t give him any kind of goddamn _warning_ , though.

“You couldn’t have warned me?” He asks on a sigh, mouth twitching despite himself when Lip laughs. “Instead of just… I dunno. Embarrassing the _shit_ outta me?”

Lip’s still laughing when he tries to answer, and it takes him a second or two to stop long enough to speak. “Oh, no. That was just me being a dick.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Ian says, but he starts laughing too because this is all just so fucking _stupid_.

How is this his life right now?

He sighs. “Mickey’s gonna kill you, y’know that, right?”

“Oh, I know.” Lip says, voice slightly muffled. There’s a soft click and then Lip’s taking in a deep breath. “I already got, like, twenty texts telling me exactly how he’s gonna do it, too. Guy’s got one hell of an imagination, I’ll give him that.”

“You wanna tell me any of the good ones?” Ian asks, raising an eyebrow when Liam brushes past him and heads for the living room door. “Just in case I wanna help him out?”

From this angle, he can see into the kitchen, just a little bit, and he watches as Liam starts rooting around in one of the cabinets for a glass. Lip snorts into his ear as Liam snags a glass from the lowest shelf.

“Hell no. I want my balls to stay exactly where they are, thanks.”

It’s Ian’s turn to snort and he rubs at his jaw, nodding when Liam waves the glass at him in silent question. Liam turns back to the cabinet, and Ian huffs out a small sigh when he sees him stretching up on his toes for another glass.

“Hold on, I’ll get it.”

“Liam?”

“Yeah.” Ian says, and the joke he wants to make about how short Liam is dies on his tongue when there’s a crash on the other end of the phone. “You okay?”

Lip lets out a heavy sigh. “Same bullshit as every other day. I should probably go figure out what Carl just broke, though.”

“Okay. Just… don’t kill him, okay?”

“No promises.” Lip says, and he sounds so _tired_ for a second that Ian’s heart aches with it. “Hey, we still on for tomorrow night?”

“‘Course we are.”

Movie night. Ian’s idea, although he’s pretty sure that’s only because he was the first one to actually say it. Lip hadn’t even _thought_ about it before agreeing. Ian’s got a box of shitty microwavable popcorn and a bottle of his favourite soda chilling in the fridge.

And he would never admit it out loud, but he’s pretty fucking excited, too.

“Cool. Look, I really do have to go, but I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Ian says, slowly wandering in the direction of the kitchen. “Go figure out what you’ve gotta fix this time.”

*

_seventh_

Ian knows standing on the other side of the street and watching _Luke’s_ the way he is makes him look like a creep. Even _he_ thinks it’s weird, and he’s the one doing it. He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that if Liam were here and hadn’t chosen to stay at the hou– at _home_ – then he would be openly laughing at how fucking stupid Ian’s being right now.

And he _is_. He knows he is.

But for some reason, knowing it’s Mickey that runs the place, knowing he’s meant to spend the next year working with _Mickey_ , has made the anxiety worse. It sits, hot and unpleasant, in his belly, and makes his hand shake a little bit as he lifts a cigarette to his mouth. It’s been lit for a while now, but he’s barely taken a drag, and the ash is starting to burn his fingers.

He doesn’t wanna go in. Technically speaking, he doesn’t even _have_ to go in yet – he’s not supposed to start working here for another week and a half. He could just turn around and go home, hang out with Liam all day instead. But no, he’s here, making things worse for himself for no good reason. The only reason he hasn’t gone home yet is because he’s never really been the kinda person to run away from a challenge. And this? Kinda feels like a challenge.

The front door of the diner opens, and Ian can’t hear the bell jingling from here, but he lets himself imagine that he can as the last of Mickey’s mid-morning customers steps out onto the street. He waits for a couple seconds, just until the woman – a little old lady who looks like a strong breeze could knock her over – has moved far enough away for him to be comfortable. With one last deep breath, Ian finishes what’s left of his cigarette and flicks the butt of it onto the sidewalk. He blows the smoke back out slowly as he crosses the street.

He manages to catch the door just before it fully closes, and he eases it open with a sigh.

Mickey’s clearing up one of the table, slowly stacking dishes in front of him, and quietly hums along to the song that’s playing over the radio. At the sound of the door closing, he glances over his shoulder, and Ian doesn’t miss the way his eyebrows furrow down into a frown.

“What’re you doing here, Gallagher?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Ian doesn’t actually know _what_ he’s doing here. He’d woken up this morning with an itch to get out and do… _something_ … settled into the very marrow of his bones. Now that he’s here and talking to Mickey, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“I…”

Mickey raises his eyebrows at him and huffs through his nose. The plates clack together as he straightens up, arms tensing with the weight of them as he strides back over to the counter.

Ian takes a deep breath through his nose. It’s shaky, and it doesn’t really feel like it’s doing anything for him, but just the motion of it makes him feel a _little_ steadier on his feet.

“You talk to Lip?”

Mickey slams the dishes down on the counter so hard Ian is kinda scared he’s gonna break them. Ian, forever an idiot, takes a few steps closer, although he stops when Mickey looks at him.

“Yeah, I fucking _talked_ to Lip. Goddamn _asshole_ thought this shit was _hilarious_.”

Ian’s mouth twitches, just a little. It fades slightly when Mickey looks at him, though, all bristling anger and red-hot indignance.

“You think this shit is funny too?”

“Nah.” Ian says, because it’s the truth and because he kinda wants Mickey to _know_. “I think he’s an asshole, too, actually.”

Mickey settles a little at that, his shoulders dropping. “Lip has _always_ been a dick.”

“You’re telling me.” Ian says, mouth curling up at the corners again. “Look, if it helps… I didn’t know you’d be here. He didn’t tell me, either.”

“Figured that one out for myself.” Mickey says with a snort, and it almost sounds like he’s laughing. Just a tiny bit.

They fall quiet for a moment, before Mickey goes back to cleaning up. Ian watches him work, the confidence in his movements as he bustles around behind the counter.

“I’m sorry.” He says, taking another few steps closer too the counter. “For all of this.”

“What d’you gotta be sorry for, Gallagher?” Mickey asks, distracted, as he messes around with the industrial dishwasher. He slams the door shut, nodding to himself when it starts hissing, and rubs his hands against his thighs as he shuffles over to the cash register. “Not like this is your fault, right?”

“No, but I’m still sorry. And I know what you did. For me. Or, well, not for _me_ , but for the guy you thought… _Anyway_. I’m just saying that I know how much you did to help get all of this set up for me. And I appreciate it, I _do_. But.” Ian knows he’s rambling, and he blows out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair. “If this is gonna be too weird for you, or whatever, I can figure something else out.”

Mickey pauses as he’s counting bills, eyes flicking up to meet Ian’s for just a second. “The fuck does that mean?”

Ian shrugs, awkward and jerky. “I’m gonna be here a year, y’know? I don’t wanna make this… even more awkward? For either of us. So, just… say the word and I’ll figure out another job, or somethin’.”

The look that Mickey gives him makes his feelings crystal fucking clear. “Nothing to be awkward _about_ , man. Sure, seeing you was fuckin’ _weird_ at first, and I’m gonna fuckin’ _murder_ Lip. I’m… I ain’t saying it’s not still weird as _fuck_ , ‘cause it is. But. I’m not.” He huffs. “You can stay, is what I’m saying.”

“I. If… you’re sure.” Ian says.

Mickey shrugs and rubs at his nose with his left hand. And maybe it’s because he’s close enough to actually be paying attention now, or maybe it’s something subconscious - Ian doesn’t know - but Mickey’s not wearing a ring. 

It shouldn’t be weird, or shocking, or anything like that because he _knows_ that Mickey isn’t married anymore. Hasn’t been married in _years_. It had been one of the first things he’d learnt after coming home from his brief stint in the army.

But it’s not like he can just… forget. Much as he wishes he _could_ , sometimes. He remembers. The wedding, the rings, the way he’d wanted to carve his own fucking heart out of his chest. To leave it broken and bleeding at that goddamned altar because it wasn’t like he was ever gonna need it again.

Mickey clears his throat. “Not gonna say no to an extra pair of hands around here. Could use the help, honestly, now that Luke’s outta town.”

“Okay.” Ian nods quickly. “Sure. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” Mickey says, and he looks like he genuinely means it.

There’s something about it that makes Ian feel like he’s being dismissed, so he takes a step back. “I’ll, uh. Try and stay outta your way until next week.”

“Whatever.” Mickey says, his attention already back on the register.

Ian blows out a slow breath and nods once, decisively, before turning on his heel and quickly slipping back outside.

That. Could’ve gone a lot worse, honestly.

_*_

_tenth_

It takes Ian a grand total of two and a half days to break his promise to Mickey about staying away from the diner. Possibly a new record, even for him. But, in his defence, they still don’t have a coffee pot at the house – at _home_ , and life without caffeine is honestly _killing_ him. Even if he has started trying to convince himself that it’s a conscious decision. He’s not supposed to be drinking it with his meds, so really, it’s a good thing. In theory. In reality… he’d never actually _stopped_. He’d just… cut down. A little.

And, you know, most of the time that’s okay. He survives. It’s not usually the end of the world. But this morning he had woken up with one hell of a deprivation headache and he hadn’t exactly felt like he was left with much choice.

So, well, now here he is. Standing on the opposite side of the street, staring at that stupid fucking coffee cup sign hanging above the door again like it holds the answers to life’s most important questions. Like a goddamn _creep_. Again. For the second time this week. They’ve been here for less than _two_. Good fucking job, Ian! Way to settle in. Great going. Really.

He _really_ hopes that Mickey hasn’t looked out the window at any point in the last couple minutes. Because if he _has_ , if he’s seen Ian just standing there glaring at the diner? Then Ian may as well just pack all their shit up right now and move to fucking Mexico. Maybe that’ll be far enough away to escape his shame. It’s not even like he has the excuse of smoking this time, either, because he’d finished the last of them last night and hasn’t had a chance to replace them yet. Turns out that this shit is _expensive_ without Lip around to steal them from.

“Can we go yet?”

Liam’s leaning against the wrought iron fence that lines the town square in a way that doesn’t look like it’s at all comfortable. But he seems relaxed enough, even if he does look like he thinks Ian is being an idiot. Which, to be far, is definitely true. And Ian _knows_ it.

He puffs out his cheeks for a second, thinking, and then nods as he blows out a breath. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

“I don’t get why you keep coming back if you hate it.”

That makes Ian pause for a moment, and when he glances over at Liam, his mouth is curled into a small smile. “Yeah, bud, me neither.”

And the thing is, is that he doesn’t really hate it. It’s just weird, and super fucking _awkward_ , and he still wants to strangle Lip every time he thinks about it. So, he knows being nervous at the idea of having to talk to Mickey is stupid, especially because he’s gonna have to get used to it eventually anyway. One day soon he’s gonna have to get his shit together. Or, at the very least, learn how to form actual goddamn sentences whenever they talk.

Without giving himself any more chances to hesitate, Ian straightens his shoulders and steps off the sidewalk. Liam falls into step beside him easily, and together they cross the street. He can already tell that the diner is busier than he’s seen it before. Not so much as to be _worrying_ , or anything – there are maybe four people in there, total – but he still hasn’t really introduced himself to anyone other than _Mickey_ yet.

Mickey isn’t actually in the diner when Ian pushes inside, holding the door open long enough for Liam to duck underneath his arm. He frowns lightly, floundering for a second or two, completely unsure of what to do here.

“Mickey had to take a call.”

Ian’s eyes flicker over towards the source of the voice. Four people, as he’d guessed, are sitting at the same table in the corner. They’re clearly halfway through breakfast, with plates of half-eaten food strewn out across the table in front of them. There’s only one guy, and he _must’ve_ been the one to speak, unless one of the three women has been chain smoking for the past sixty years straight. He’s middle-aged, probably late forties or early fifties, at a guess, with greying brown hair and obvious crow’s feet, and there’s something in the way his legs are folded underneath the table that makes Ian think he’s probably super tall.

“He shouldn’t be that long.” One of the women says, offering him a small smile.

“Thanks.” Ian says quietly, ducking his head so he can glance down at Liam. “You wanna sit down?”

Liam shrugs, but wanders off to find a table anyway. Ian waits until he’s found a table beside the window to follow him and uses those few seconds to just look around. May as well get used to the place he’s gonna be working, right? It’s nice. A little outdated, maybe, but it’s clean and it’s nice. Comfortable, even. Not a word Ian would usually ever associate with Micky Milkovich, but. Well. Ian never would’ve pegged him as running a diner in small-town, Connecticut either, so that just shows what he knows, huh?

The scent of coffee, bitter and warm, lingers in the air. There’s something else, too. Too sweet to really be spicy, but it’s close, and it makes Ian inhale deeply. He turns back to Liam in time to watch him throw himself onto a chair, his arms stretched out across the tabletop as his fingers drum against the tablecloth. There’s no real pattern to it, and Ian lets himself feel guilty for dragging him over here, _again_. Just for a second. Then he buries it by reminding himself of how many times Liam’s hinted about that goddamn croissant over the past couple days.

Ian’s kinda grateful they don’t try talking to him again, and instead fall back into whatever conversation they’d been having before he and Liam showed up. He doesn’t bother trying to listen to what they’re saying, just sinks down onto the chair opposite Liam with a groan that leaves Liam smiling. He feels his mouth twitch a little as he leans across the table to tap Liam on the arm.

“You hungry?” He asks, just because that’s a thing he can _do_ now, and because he already knows the answer. His smile grows when he catches Liam glancing over at the display case.

“No. I’m fine.” Liam says, forcing himself to stare back down at the table.

His fingers twist around themselves, making Ian frown. He taps Liam’s wrist again.

“Hey, it’s okay. You want something? You can tell me.”

Ian has had an entire lifetime of making compromises, of having to let things go because they just couldn’t afford them, and he fucking _refuses_ to let that be how it is for Liam, too. He’s got money for the first time in his _life_ , and he will not let Liam worry about it the way he did. The way _any_ of them did.

Liam is quiet for a little while, but his eyes keep darting over to that display case. He’s clearly still arguing with himself from the way he’s chewing at the corner of his mouth. Ian is patient, though, and he nods when Liam’s eyes land on him.

“Can…” Liam trails off for a second. “Can I get one of those croissants again?”

Ian grins. “‘Course you can.”

Liam’s smile makes a return, small though it is, and he opens his mouth to speak, but whatever he’s about to say is cut off by the sound of a low bark. Ian’s head shoots up and he whips around in his chair in time to see a fucking _huge_ German Shepherd barrel towards the other table.

There’s another low, rumbling bark as the guy reaches out to run a hand roughly over its head, and Ian smiles as the dog’s tail starts to thump heavily against a chair leg. There’s movement out the corner of his eye and he glances up to Mickey appearing in the doorway that leads out to the back. Mickey’s eyebrow quirks a little when he spots them, but he doesn’t say anything as he follows the dog around the counter and slowly makes his way over to the others.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” The same woman as before asks, and the question has Ian blinking.

 _Sweetie_? He does his best to make it look like he isn’t eavesdropping, turning back so he’s looking at Liam instead of obviously staring at them. _Sweetie_? Fucking _really_?

“Yeah, it was just Sandy. Don’t worry about it.”

The name sounds familiar, and it takes Ian a moment or two to remember _why_. Sandy Milkovich. Mickey’s… cousin? Maybe? It was always hard to tell with the Milkoviches. There always seemed to be an endless supply of kids living at Mickey’s old place, regardless of it they were Terry’s bastards or not.

And then something else hits him, makes him _think_ , makes him pause for just a second. These people _know_ Mickey. They know who _Sandy_ is, and that probably shouldn’t be blowing his mind as much as it is, but it is. Back when they were kids and had to sneak around all the time, _Ian_ barely knew who Sandy was. And they grew up together. The fact that Mickey trusts some random woman in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere, enough for _her_ to know shit about him? Makes Ian’s heart constrict, just a little bit.

Which is stupid because it shouldn’t. Ian has no claim over Mickey, or his life, or what he tells other people. It’s just that Ian spent _so long_ fighting to get Mickey to open up, about _anything_ , ever, that this realisation kinda stings.

Something presses against his leg and snaps him out of… whatever _that_ was, and he glances down to find that the dog has moved over to their table to sniff around their feet. He freezes, not because he’s scared or anything – he’s really, honestly _not_ – but because he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to pet it. And he really wants to. He risks a look over his shoulder, and Mickey gives him a slow nod.

“What’s his name?” Ian asks quietly, like if he speaks above a whisper the dog’s gonna fucking vanish or something.

“… Duke.” Mickey says after a couple seconds of hesitation.

Once upon a time, Ian would’ve known what that pause meant, but now he isn’t entirely sure. Apprehension, maybe? Of letting him in on even this much. Reluctance? Ian doesn’t know, and the realisation that he doesn’t know hurts. He’d never had to _try_ , before.

“Hi Duke.” Ian breathes, looking back down at the German Shepherd and holding out a hand to be sniffed.

Duke’s nose is warm and dry as he sniffs at Ian’s hand, and after a few moments, he bumps the top of his head against Ian’s palm. The full weight of him settles against Ian’s side as he accepts the attention. His fur is long and soft, and Ian’s fingers sink into it as he runs his hand down the length of Duke’s back. There’s a dull thump against one of the chair legs as Duke wags his tail, and Ian smiles down at the top of his head.

A minute or so later, Mickey approaches their table and the tension eases out of his shoulders the moment he settles a hand between Duke’s ears. Ian isn’t looking at the other people, but he is _painfully_ aware that they’re being watched.

“What d’you want, Gallagher?”

Ian feels a slight pang when Duke pads over to sniff at Liam’s sneakers, although it doesn’t last long. Liam lets out a small giggle and Ian feels himself smile again. He forces himself to meet Mickey’s eye. To stop hiding from him.

“Sorry, I know I promised to stay outta your way. I don’t…” He trails off when Mickey shakes his head, like that wasn’t why he’d asked.

There’s something about it, something about that question in particular, although Ian wouldn’t be able to say _what_ , that makes everything click into place. The dawning realisation of what day it is hits him suddenly. Washes over him like he’s been thrown in a bathtub full of ice water.

August tenth. Mickey’s birthday.

It’s Mickey’s _birthday_.

Shit.

Fuckfuckfuck.

There’s no way he _doesn’t_ look like an asshole right now. God, Mickey probably thinks he came in here just to be a dick. Ian looks away from him, eyes skimming the diner as he tries to find some kind of saving grace. Something. _Anything_.

His gaze lands on the bakery on the other side of the square, and he huffs out a breath through his nose, an idea taking shape. Whether it’s a _good_ idea, or not, is up for debate. But, well, it’s not like he can really make things _worse_ , is it? The chair squeaks against the linoleum as he pushes away from the table and slowly gets to his feet. He cocks his head in Liam’s direction, where he’s still fussing over Duke, and bites his lip.

“I know this is a really weird question to ask, but, uh. Is it okay if Liam stays here for a minute?”

Mickey’s eyebrow twitches, but he shrugs before reaching up to scratch at his chin. “Whatever, man.”

Ian murmurs a quick thanks, and squeezes past Mickey so he can lay a gentle hand on Liam’s shoulder. “Stay here, okay? I won’t be long.”

Liam looks up at him long enough to give him a curious frown, but nods after a couple seconds. Ian pats his shoulder twice before he heads for the door. It closes behind him on the soft hum of Mickey asking Liam if he’s hungry, and it makes something warm settle in Ian’s chest.

He reaches the bakery in little under a minute, although it doesn’t really feel like he’s going that fast. The front door is propped open with a doorstop in the shape of a melting chocolate ice cream and it makes him smile. It starts off as something small, but it grows when he catches sight of the women working behind the counter. She’s the exact opposite of what he would expect; she’s wearing an old My Chemical Romance t-shirt – The Black Parade, from the looks of it – with the sleeves cut off underneath the plain forest green apron she has fastened around her waist. Her hair, piled on top of her head and secured in a messy bun with what looks like two pens, is also dark green.

She’s in the middle of placing something covered in fruit in the biggest display case when Ian walks in, but she glances up at the sound of his footsteps and offers him a welcoming smile.

“Haven’t seen you around here before.”

Ian shrugs and scratches at the back of his neck. “Haven’t really been here that long.”

“You’re the new guy, right? The one who’s gonna work at _Luke’s_?”

“That’s me.” Ian says, and he knows on some level that he really shouldn’t be surprised about her knowing who he is. But. He is. Just a little bit.

She finishes messing around with whatever it was she’d been doing, and straightens up, smoothing her hands down over her hips.

“Cool. What can I do for you now, though?”

And that’s kind of the thing, isn’t it? Ian doesn’t really know _what_ he’s doing here, or _why_ he’s doing it. But here he is anyway, scanning the display case, not really taking any of the cakes and deserts and pastries on the other side of the glass in. He has no idea what Mickey would even want, and now that he’s here he’s gotta get _something_. Mandy might’ve let slip that he likes bananas, once, but whether that’s true or if it’s something he’s just making up because he’s desperate, Ian doesn’t know.

He draws his eyes away from the counter and up to where the woman is watching him. The way her eyebrows tick upwards reminds him so strongly of Mickey that he blinks stupidly at her for a second. Now that he’s close enough, though, he realises there’s a nametag pinned to her apron. He tries not to openly squint at it as he does his best to make out the name hidden in cursive.

Eva.

“You got anything with bananas?” He asks because the silence is beginning to stretch into uncomfortable.

Eva’s smile takes up her whole face and she starts telling him about the things she has in stock. Breads, muffins, cookies, cakes. Ian doesn’t wanna be away from Liam for too long, so he eventually settles on a peanut butter and banana muffin. He picks out a red velvet one for himself and a triple chocolate cookie for Liam.

“I’m pretty new around here myself.” Eva says once she’s finished ringing him up, placing each item in a separate paper bag and sealing them with a small sticker in the shape of a flower. “Moved here two years ago and people still act like I got here yesterday.”

“Great.” Ian says on a sigh, accepting the bags from her with a small smile.

“People around here aren’t so bad. Promise. Including Mickey. I know he can be a hardass sometimes, but once you get to know him, he’s actually kinda sweet.”

Ian does his best not to react to that – he doesn’t know whether Mickey even _wants_ anyone to know that they already know each other, but his guess is probably not.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He says instead. “Thanks. For these.”

“No problem!” Eva says brightly. She pauses to fiddle with the strap around her neck. “I’ll guess I’ll see you around, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so.” Ian offers her one last nod and lifts the hand holding the paper bags in farewell.

It’s slightly hotter outside now than it had been five minutes ago, and he feels the familiar prickle of sweat beading at his brow as he hurries back to _Luke’s_. The people from before are gone when he slips back inside, and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief. This is probably gonna be awkward enough as it is, he doesn’t wanna make it _worse_. than it has to be. Duke is still at Liam’s feet, tail wagging lazily as Liam runs his fingers over his muzzle, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he closes his eyes. Mickey’s cleaning up their table, but he glances up at the bell, frowning when he spots Ian. This frown is different, though Ian wouldn’t be able to explain _how_.

There’s something less… antagonistic in it, maybe? More genuine confusion than anything else.

“Hope he didn’t cause too much trouble?” Ian asks, jerking his chin at Liam.

Mickey snorts softly. “The worst. Drove off all my customers.”

Ian nods slowly, fighting a smile as he makes his way over to Liam. He nudges Liam’s shoulder. “We tried our best, but he just won’t listen.”

“Better find a way of making up to me then, huh?” Mickey asks, his own mouth twitching.

Taking it for the cue it definitely _isn’t_ , Ian carefully extracts the paper bag with the peanut butter and banana muffin in it, dropping the other two bags onto the table, and approaches Mickey. He holds the bag out in offering, smile breaking free at the suspicious look Mickey’s giving him.

“Think I might have one.”

He hands Mickey the bag, watching as he curiously opens it and peeks inside. His frown shifts from untrusting to curious, the paper crinkling beneath his fingers as he meets Ian’s eye.

“Fuck’s this for?”

“Happy birthday, Mickey.”

*

_twelfth_

**Ian [7:34 A.M.]:** no way you’re awake yet, but happy birthday

**Ian [10:03 A.M.]:** hey, it cool if Liam calls you later? He misses you a lot, y’know?

**Ian [2:29 P.M.]:** you get off in like thirty minutes, right?

**_4 missed calls to FIONA_ **

****

**Ian [6:58 P.M.]:** fuck you too, I guess

*

_twentieth_

“You want me to walk with you?”

Liam looks up from the bowl of soggy cereal he’s spent the last fifteen minutes slurping his way through to raise and eyebrow at him. It’s a look that has Lip Gallagher written all over it, and Ian ducks his head to hide a smile behind his glass of orange juice. He drinks the last of it in one big mouthful and rubs the back of his hand across his mouth with a sigh.

“It’s okay, I can find it by myself.”

Ian nods slowly, mouth still twitching as he sets his now-empty glass in the sink – upside-down, because apparently all of Trevor’s complaining had worked, at least a little bit, after all. He points at Liam’s bowl.

“You gonna finish eatin’ that, or are you just stalling for time?”

The grimace that works its way onto Liam’s face says it all, really, and Ian snorts out a laugh. He checks his phone, pulls a face at the time, and then jerks his head towards the door. Liam huffs through his nose and slowly pushes to his feet. A pointed look from Ian has him throwing the rest of his cereal in the trash and then shuffling over to the sink so he can rinse the bowl out.

“Everything ready to go?” Ian asks, even though he already knows the answer.

They’d spent almost an hour going through it all last night, after spending all evening watching movies with Lip. Ian _thinks_ talking to Lip probably helped ease the sting of Fiona’s ongoing silence, at the very least. It’s really hard to tell with Liam sometimes.

He doesn’t miss the way Liam rolls his eyes as he fusses with the hem of his t-shirt, muttering out a quiet, “Yeah.”

“Okay, go get your shit.”

It’s almost like Liam has been waiting for an excuse to leave with how quickly he rockets outta the kitchen. Ian hears him pounding up the stairs, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he wanders out into the hallway to find a pair of shoes. The shoe rack he’d bought sits pride of place just inside the front door, and there’s something in it, something about _slowly_ making this house liveable, that makes his chest warm.

There’s a much smaller part of him that looks at all the stuff he’s already bought and wonders what the fuck they’re gonna do with it when they move back to Chicago, but for the most part he manages to ignore it.

He’s in the middle of pulling on his right shoe when Liam appears at the top of the stairs again, and the sight of him fussing with the straps of his backpack as he pulls it across his shoulders makes Ian want to smile. Getting Liam to agree to wearing regular people clothes on his first day at school had been an _ordeal_. He’d been _convinced_ he needed to wear a tie, and it had taken Ian way longer than he could’ve ever imagined to talk him out of it.

“You ready to go?”

Liam frowns at him a little as he traipses down the stairs. “I said I could walk.”

“I know and I don’t doubt it.” Ian says easily, stepping out of the way so Liam can grab his sneakers. “Still gonna come with you, though. If that’s okay?”

“Whatever.” Liam huffs out, grabbing his sneakers from the bottom rack and sitting on the bench so he can pull them on.

Much like Ian, he doesn’t undo them, so it takes him a couple minutes to wrestle them on. Ian offers him a hand up when he’s done, easily pulling him to his feet. Liam readjusts his backpack as Ian takes one last look around the hallway, patting down his pockets for his phone and keys.

Once satisfied, he blows out a breath and raises an eyebrow at Liam. “Alright, let’s get outta here, huh?”

He leaves Liam to lock the front door after them, because for some fucking reason he seems to _enjoy_ doing it, and takes the porch steps two at a time. While he’s waiting for Liam to join him, he hooks his phone from his pocket and pulls up his maps app, tapping the address of his school into the search bar. It should probably be weirder than it is. That he can recite the school’s address from memory but doesn’t even know what their own zip code is without looking it up. But to be honest, he also doesn’t really give a shit.

As he hits the bottom step, Ian glances over at the car and briefly considers offering Liam a ride to school instead of walking. It had rained on Saturday night and the dirt track of their drive is still a little muddy.

Still, it’s not like walking will take that much longer, _and_ he’s almost outta gas anyway. He turns away from the car and starts slowly making his way down the drive. Liam catches up to him easily and they walk quietly for a while, each of them lost in their own thoughts as they listen to the birds chirping their early morning songs to one another.

“You excited?” He eventually asks.

Liam shrugs. “I guess.”

“Oh, you _guess_ , huh?” Ian scoffs under his breath. “You know you’re gonna be fine, right? Might not be as nice as you’re old school, or whatever, but at least Frank won’t be sniffin’ around.”

Liam shrugs again and carries on walking in silence. Ian watches him go, unsure of what exactly he should do here. Lip would know exactly what to say to make Liam feel better. Hell, Lip would know exactly what to say to make _Ian_ feel better too. As it is, Ian doesn’t even know _what_ is wrong with Liam, let alone how to try and fix it.

By the time they reach the town square, Ian is itching for this to be over. He wants to go home, to crawl back into bed for another hour or two and try and sleep whatever… _this_ is off. Try again later. Liam still hasn’t said anything and the silent treatment – if that’s what this even _is_ – is starting to get to him.

“I can go on my own from here.” Liam says suddenly, although his voice is barely above a whisper.

Ian stumbles and blinks down at him. “You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Ian wavers for a couple seconds, unsure of whether to agree or not. The map on his phone says they’re only ten minutes away from the school, and that it’s on a pretty well-travelled street. He bites his lip, and then nods slowly.

“Okay, but you gotta promise me two things first. You text me the second you get there, and you text me when you leave, alright? I’ll come meet here.”

Liam takes a moment to think about it and then bobs his head. “Sure. I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Ian says, and then it’s just the two of them standing there staring at each other awkwardly.

After what feels like minutes, but can only have been thirty seconds at most, Ian sighs and reaches out to tug Liam into a gentle hug. Liam stays motionless for a heartbeat and then his skinny arms are squeezing around Ian’s waist.

“Have a good day, okay?” Ian murmurs as he lets go and pulls away.

Liam nods quickly and steps back. He raises a hand in farewell and then he’s gone, vanishing off up the street. Ian watches him until he’s disappeared and lets out a long breath when he can no longer see him.

Ian spins around in a slow circle, not really knowing what to do next. There’s some shit he could do at the house – like unpacking some of the last few boxes he hasn’t got around to yet, or starting on clearing out the back yard, or putting Liam’s new wardrobe together. He knows he’s gonna have to do all that shit at some point, but he doesn’t really want to.

It’s a weird feeling. Being on his own. He’s never really… had that before. Sure, okay, Lip would definitely argue that he spends a lot of time alone. ‘With his thoughts’ or whatever. And Lip would probably, _definitely_ , be right. But there’s a difference, Ian thinks, as he stands there on the corner and watches the world go by, between being alone and being lonely.

And right now? He’s kinda lonely. 

It’s probably why, when his eyes land on _Luke’s_ , he thinks about it. Going in. Seeing Mickey. For no other reason than just to see a familiar face. To remind himself that he isn’t _actually_ alone, even if Mickey doesn’t like him much anymore.

That’s the thought that stops him from actually _doing_ it. Mickey not liking him. Sure, it’s only been a couple days and things are still so fucking _weird_ , but it’s not like Mickey’s made it much of a secret.

He doesn’t like Ian.

And that’s… well, it’s not _okay_. Not really. But it’s understandable. It’s not like Ian had ever given him much of a reason _to_ like him. Especially not in the last two weeks.

Ian shakes his head, and starts to make the short walk back home.

*

_twenty-fourth_

With Liam out of the way for close to seven hours a day, Ian dedicates his week to putting the house together as well as he can manage. Which isn’t to say Ian’s _glad_ Liam isn’t around, because he’s not. The house is quiet even when the two of them _are_ both there, and it becomes almost unbearable when Ian is by himself. But he gets things done a lot quicker without Liam being there to worry about.

His week goes as follows:

Monday – clearing out the backyard as best he can manage, because it’s the only day of the week forecasted for sun. He does what he can with the cheap trash bags he’d found in the cabinet under the sink. Without a lawnmower there isn’t a whole lot he _can_ do, but even so, it doesn’t look too bad by the time he’s finished, if he does say so himself. It won’t be winning him any prizes or anything, but at least they can actually go out there now.

Tuesday – rearranging their living room. He tries his best to make it look less like someone just dumped random pieces of furniture wherever they wanted to, and more like people actually _live_ here. It still looks a little bare, but he’s not too worried about it. They’ll pick stuff up as they go.

Wednesday – he braves the drive to Hartford – partly because he needs gas, and mostly because he wants to browse the thrift stores again. It’s the most successful trip he’s had yet – he picks up a table and chairs for the small strip of back patio, a bedside table for his room so he can finally put away the box of books he _has_ been using, and a rug he buys for no other reason than he likes it. He’s got no idea where he’s gonna _put_ it yet – either under the coffee table or down the side of his bed – but he doesn’t care.

Thursday – spends the morning unpacking the last of their own boxes – mostly just shit like Liam’s school supplies, which he dumps on Liam’s bed for him to sort through when he gets home from school, and the box of books he’d been using for a bedside table. Unpacking _that_ box brings another problem to light – just how barren his own room is. He doesn’t have much more than a bed, a dresser, and now a table. Which is okay, he supposes, it’s not like he _lives_ in there or anything. But, still. At the very least, curtains would be nice.

And now it’s Friday evening and Ian has spent the entire day doing _nothing_. Not a single thing of use or value. Which is kinda nice, to be honest. He wouldn’t mind more days of doing not a whole lot. Maybe not _too_ many, though, because he was getting kinda bored before Liam came home. But, whatever, it was nice to turn his brain off for a while and just lounge on the couch for a couple hours.

Right now, though, he’s in the middle of dishing up their food. He had ended up ordering takeout for dinner. Thai, because it’s what Liam wanted when he’d asked, and Ian _had_ told him that it was in celebration of him finishing his first week of school without getting into a single fight. Better than any of the other Gallaghers can say. And it _is_ for that. Kinda. It’s also, mostly, because he really can’t be fucked to cook. They’re gonna need to go shopping for actual groceries at some point over the weekend because they’re starting to run low on basic shit like milk and bread and toilet paper.

His phone goes off as he’s carrying their dishes into the living room. He’d left it on the coffee table, so it’s vibrating obnoxiously against the wood, and he jerks his head at Liam.

“You get that for me? It’s probably Lip.”

Liam nods and shuffles across the couch so he can stretch out an arm to grab it. “Hello?”

Ian snorts a little as he places their plates down on the coffee table, nudging Liam’s thigh with his knee and pointing at the bowl of pho he’d asked for when they were ordering. Ian doesn’t even know if Liam _likes_ pho, but there’s only one way to find out. The sound of Liam talking to Lip follows him into the kitchen as he wanders back in to pick up the cutlery he’d left on the counter and snag two cans of coke from the fridge. 

He throws himself onto the couch beside Liam, the cutlery rattling noisily as he leans forward to rescue his bowl of pad thai. Balancing it on his thigh, he cracks open a can and hands it over to Liam before doing the same with his own.

“Put him on speaker.” Ian mutters around the forkful of food he’s just shovelled into his mouth.

Liam does as he asks, balancing the phone on the couch cushion between them. It takes a second or two for Lip’s voice to start playing through the speaker, and Liam takes the opportunity to grab his own food.

“– a good week, though, right?”

“Yeah.” Liam says, poking at a piece of beef with the tines of his fork. “The kids in my class seem pretty nice.”

“Eat.” Ian says, nudging Liam with his elbow.

“He speaks!” Lip says on a laugh.

Ian rolls his eyes and swallows his noodles. “Hey.”

“Real talkative today, huh?”

“Fuck off. I’m tryin’ to eat.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Lip says, and Ian can _hear_ the grin in it. “You gonna let me keep talking to Liam, or is he trying to eat too?”

“ _I_ can multitask.” Liam mutters, slurping noodles into his mouth to prove a point.

Lip snorts, crackly and distorted over the phone. “Oh, yeah? Good job. More than I can say for someone _else_ I know.”

“Fuck. _Off_.” Ian grunts, although his mouth twitches when he hears Lip laugh again.

“You like your teachers?” Lip asks after a brief pause.

Liam _hmms_ , scratching his chin as he chews his food for a second. “Yeah. I _think_ so. Most of ‘em seem cool.”

Ian lets himself zone out for a little while as Liam starts telling Lip all about his teachers. He’s already heard all about how great Mrs. Evans is, how _fun_ her science classes are, and how intimidating Miss West, the librarian, is. Liam had even given him a rundown on how his entire class is convinced that Mr. Tyler, the head of the English department, is an alien in disguise. 

“What about you, Ian?” Lip’s question draws him back into the conversation and he lets his fork clatter into a mostly empty bowl. “What’re your new teachers like?”

Ian laughs despite himself. “Well, y’know. One of ‘em’s a real asshole.”

Lip makes an understanding noise, and then there’s the quiet _snick_ of a lighter. He takes a deep breath, muffled slightly through the phone. “Sorry to hear that, man. Still. Better learn to live with him, huh? Seein’ as he’s your boss and all.”

“I meant _you_ , you prick.”

There’s that laugh again. “Oh, I know. Doesn’t make what I said any less true, though, does it?”

Ian lets out a long sigh. “No. Not really.”

“How you feeling? About working with him, I mean?”

“Like you give a shit. Seein’ as _you_ signed me up for this.”

“You still mad?”

Ian frowns at the blank tv screen as he thinks it over. “A little, I guess.”

It’s mostly the truth. They haven’t really talked about it, outside of that one argument. If what they’d said could even be _called_ an argument, at all. It’s not like Ian doesn’t get it because he _does_. Hell, if it were the other way around and Lip was moving to the same town as Mandy, he probably wouldn’t say anything either.

At least to Lip.

Still. It’s the principle of the thing, isn’t it? And, who knows? Maybe he _will_ be mad when he has to actually _work_ with Mickey. When Mickey stops being this abstract thing that only really exists on the periphery of Ian’s consciousness. Because yeah, okay, Ian’s ended up at _Luke’s_ more times than he probably _should_ have over the last week. And it’s not like Ian has _forgotten_ that Mickey exists, or anything, because he definitely hasn’t. But outside of those few, pretty short interactions with the guy, Ian honestly hasn’t really had the time _to_ think about him.

So, like, maybe there is anger there. Waiting for him. For when he physically cannot ignore it anymore.

And maybe Lip _knows_ all of that, or maybe he’s just a dick, because he laughs _again_ – and _fuck_ but Ian misses him. They’ve spent their whole lives within spitting distance of each other, practically on _top_ of each other. Talking to him over the phone is nice, or whatever, but Ian misses being in the same room. Being able to read his face.

“Liam, tonight’s your pick, man. What’re we watching?”

“Thought Carl was joining?”

Lip hums. “He was supposed to, yeah. Think I heard Kelly earlier, though, so I think we’re on our own.”

“Debs?” He can practically _hear_ the way Lip freezes. “She’s talking to Fiona, isn’t she?”

Lip breathes out slowly. “Yeah. Has been for, like, an hour.”

“You know if she said anything?”

“Nah. Not like she’s really talking to me either, y’know?”

Liam’s bowl thumps against the table, and Ian shakes his head to clear it. “Yeah, sorry. Anyway, you know what you wanna watch?”

“Spiderverse.”

“Again?” Ian asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t act like you don’t wanna watch it too.”

Ian shakes his head and leans against the back of the couch, coke can balanced loosely on his knee. He forces himself to just… stop thinking altogether. There will be time to deal with whatever the fuck Fiona’s problem is.

Just not today.

*

_twenty-seventh_

Saying that they already have a routine going feels a little weird, given that they’ve only really been doing it for a week. But, well, they kinda have a routine going. Ian wakes up at five-thirty every morning, usually waking up just before his alarm goes off. He puts on the same pair of sweatpants and the same worn old t-shirt that he’s pretty sure used to belong to Lip – as if that’s ever actually meant anything, all their clothes are communal, anyway. Jogs for half an hour, which really just means he gets to the end of the drive and then turns around. Then he takes a fifteen minute shower because this place actually has decent water pressure and because he _can_ and gets properly dressed for the rest of his day.

Liam’s usually already awake when Ian knocks on his door at seven. After Liam’s gone about his business, they have breakfast together. It’s not anything fancy – save for the one morning that Ian manages to make scrambled eggs without burning them too badly. Liam only eats one kind of cereal at a time, and Ian always has two slices of toast. One that doesn’t have anything on it at all, and the other that he usually slathers in chocolate spread.

The toast thing is something he’s been doing for a couple years now. It’s one of those things that he and Lip had started doing together. A compromise. A way of holding each other accountable. Ian takes his meds, with food, in front of someone else just to prove that he’s done it, and Lip drinks at least two glasses of either water or juice with his breakfast.

Truth be told there was a part of him that had been kinda worried about Lip keeping his end of the deal without Ian there. He really should’ve known better, though, because every morning Lip sends him a picture of his water, or his juice, or something that looks like tea once.

He’s halfway through his second slice of toast, this one covered in peanut butter – smooth, because he’s not an animal – when Lip’s text comes through. It’s a picture, obviously, of two glasses. One of what looks like water, and the other of orange juice. Lip’s thumb takes up the other half of the frame and it makes Ian snort, crumbs flying everywhere as he laughs.

Liam looks up from where he’s doing the crossword – because that’s a thing he does now, apparently – and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Lip’s still sober.” Ian says as he does his best to wipe the crumbs off the front of his shirt.

The shift in Liam’s face is subtle, almost non-existent even, but Ian still sees it. The relief. Sees the way Liam’s shoulders drop, and the corners of his mouth relax.

“Good.” Liam says, turning back to his crossword. A couple seconds later he huffs out a breath and taps his pen against his chin. “You know what ‘rewards for attendance’ is? Ten letters.”

Ian shakes his head immediately. “Sorry, man.”

Lip’s text is still pulled up, so he quickly lifts his phone and snaps a picture of Liam frowning over at him. He captions it _‘asking the wrong person for help’_ and snorts when Liam throws a cheerio at him.

“ _Ian_.”

“ _Liam_.” Ian mocks, flicking the same piece of cereal back across the table and smiling slightly when it lands directly in the middle of Liam’s crossword. He watches the milk seep into the paper for a second. “Want me to ask Lip?”

Liam shakes his head, dabbing at the wet spot with the palm of his hand. He picks the cheerio up and throws it into his bowl. “It’s okay. Don’t have time to finish it anyway.”

Ian glances at his watch and curses under his breath when he realises the time. Almost seven-thirty. “You got everything?”

The look Liam gives him is _definitely_ something he picked up from Debbie, saying he’s an idiot for even needing to ask. But he can’t help it. The last thing he needs, or wants, is Liam getting in trouble for forgetting something. He’s trying to do a good job at this whole ‘legal guardian’ thing, thanks.

“Have _you_?” Liam asks.

Ian’s halfway into frowning at him when the reality of what he means truly hits.

His first day.

At _Luke’s_.

With Mickey.

And it’s not… he hasn’t _deliberately_ been trying to think of distractions all morning – except in all the ways that he _has_ been doing exactly that – and it’s not like it actually worked, or anything. It hadn’t. The knowledge of what today is, and what he’s gonna have to do, and who he’s gonna have to do it _with_ have been bubbling under the surface since he woke up.

It’s just that, well, up until this exact moment he’d been able to place something in between. First, he’d had to go for a jog, and then he’d had to wake Liam up, and then there was breakfast. And now, for the first time, there is nothing else. When Ian steps outside that is _it_. There is no turning back or hiding from it or acting like it isn’t happening. The next time Ian so much as puts a _toe_ through their front door, he’ll be on his way to Mickey. 

He hears Liam sigh. The scrape of wooden chair legs across the floorboards. A spoon rattling against the side of a plastic bowl. Behind him the tap starts running. That’s what draws him back into the room, and he shakes his head a little to clear it. He shoves the last bite of toast into his mouth and quickly works his way through it as he forces himself to his feet. Crumbs are scattered all across the table and he does his best to brush most of them into a cupped palm, dumping them in the trash on his way to the sink.

Liam’s rinsing out his glass, and Ian nudges him out of the way with his hip. “I’ll do it later. Go get your shit.”

“Okay.” Liam says with a shrug, letting Ian get to the sink as he vanishes through the kitchen door.

His footsteps are heavy as they thump up the stairs and even heavier as they cross the landing. Ian stares at the ceiling for a couple seconds, and then huffs out a breath through his nose. He places the glass Liam had rinsed out on the draining board, quickly does the same with his own, and then wipes his hands off against his thighs.

No more putting it off. He’s gotta deal with it. 

Liam’s footsteps thud across the floor again, and he rolls his shoulders back as he straightens up.

It’ll be fine.

It’ll all be… fine.

Mickey’s outside smoking a cigarette when Ian gets there, the smoke curling and wrapping around itself as it drifts towards the overcast sky. Duke lays at his feet, muzzle resting against huge, golden paws as he watches the world go by. His tail thumps against the ground a couple times when he spots Ian approaching them, and he slowly hauls himself up to his feet so he can meet Ian halfway.

“Hey, boy.” Ian murmurs, running his hand gently over Duke’s head and smiling a little when his eyes slide shut. He snorts out a quiet laugh when Duke licks his wrist, fingers curling around the back of an ear so he can get a good scratch in.

When he glances up, Mickey is watching them with a barely visible smile. It really is nothing more than the vaguest uptick of his mouth, but it’s _something_. He meets Ian’s eye after a moment and jerks his head toward the door. Ian nods, giving Duke one final pat on the head as Mickey drops the butt of his cigarette down a nearby drain and pulls a hulking set of keys from his pocket. How he even fit them in there is a mystery, there’s so fucking many.

“Aren’t you usually open by now?” Ian asks quietly as he follows Mickey inside.

Duke brushes past him, heavy tail thwacking him in the thigh as he trudges over to the dog bed that’s been shoved in the corner. Ian winces and rubs his leg as he watches Mickey cross the room to the light switch on the wall inside the backdoor.

“Sometimes.” Mickey says with a shrug. He flicks the switch and they both blink against the sudden light that floods the room. “Figured I’d show you how to set up in the morning, though.”

Ian shoves his hands in his back pockets and nods. “Okay.”

“Planning on standing there all day, or what?” Mickey asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

There’s something in the slight twitch of it that reminds Ian of the one summer they had together before it all fell apart and came crashing down around them. When Mickey spent most of his time laughing at Ian for being a moron. It’s a look he knows well, and he feels something settle in his chest at the sight of it.

He shakes his head, tries for a smile, and follows Mickey across the room. Takes the apron he’s handed without complaint, slipping it over his head and looping the ties around his waist. Mickey leads him over to the coffee machine, flipping another switch on the back wall as he hums to himself. He seems to come to a decision because he glances over his shoulder at Ian.

“Lip,” he scoffs a little and rolls his eyes, “told me you got some experience being a busboy?”

That is… something of an exaggeration. Not long after he’d been diagnosed, Fiona had got him a job at _Patsy’s_ – he’d managed to last a month before her constant nagging had become too much for him to deal with. At least, that’s what it had felt like, at the time.

“Little bit.” Is what Ian _actually_ says, because he has no interest in making Mickey hate him even more than he probably already does. “Was a while ago, though.”

Three years, give or take, but who’s counting?

Mickey gives him a long look, like he’s weighing up his options, and then he nods. “Okay. In that case, I’ll show you how all this shit works first.”

“Sure.”

They don’t really talk much as Mickey walks him through how most of the equipment works. He learns how to use the coffee machine – not all that complicated, given the guy who used to own the place refused to serve anything but black coffee. Runs through how to work the register. Again, not that complicated, and he more or less gets the hang of it after a couple tries. Mickey shows him how to use the dishwasher, too, even when Ian tries to tell him that he knows how it works.

The glare he gets when he tries to interrupt is enough to get him to shut the hell up for another twenty minutes. Which is fine, honestly. Ian hadn’t exactly been expecting a warm welcome, and it’s a relief to know where they stand.

They’re not friends.

Mickey makes _that_ clear pretty fucking quickly.

They aren’t friends, and they’re definitely not here to _become_ friends, either.

It’s a job.

That’s it, that’s all it is. The sooner he gets used to it and accepts it, the easier this will be for both of them.

Which is _exactly_ why he doesn’t let himself even _think_ about asking any questions. Oh, sure, he _has_ them. So many of them, in fact, that it leaves him a little bit breathless sometimes.

_What happened to you? Where did you go? What have you been doing all this time? What about Svetlana? Why wasn’t I enough? Did you ever think about me?_

He’s so desperate to ask some of them that he has to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting them out. It’s none of his fucking business. Not anymore. It hasn’t been his business for a _long_ time, and whatever answers he may have once been entitled to no longer exist.

So, he literally bites his tongue and does as he’s told. Helps Mickey set up for the day, and then lets Mickey walk him through how to open the diner. He sneaks off when there’s a lull, when he thinks Mickey’s busy sorting through stock out back to give Duke a pat on the head, only to straighten up to Mickey watching him from the doorway.

“You gonna leave my dog alone and do your job, Gallagher?”

“Sorry.” Ian mutters, giving Duke one final pat and frowning when he whines. “He looked like he wanted attention.”

Mickey shakes his head, and shuffles forwards a little so he can dump the boxes in his arms on the counter. He opens the dishwasher and roots around for a second before producing a knife sharp enough to slice through the tape.

“That’s ‘cause he’s a needy bitch.” Mickey huffs, but there’s such deep-seated affection there that it kinda takes Ian by surprise. His mouth twitches when Duke’s tail thumps against the bed, muted by the thick blanket spread across its base. “Ain’t you?”

Duke’s head tilts to the left, ear twitching as he stares up at Mickey expectantly. Mickey sighs, pausing in what he’s doing so he can reach out his own hand and sift it through the fur at the back of Duke’s neck. There’s something about it, in the way his shoulders relax and his face softens out of its hard edges, that takes Ian even more strongly by surprise than he already had been.

Mickey seems to remember Ian’s there a second later because he shakes his head and turns back to stacking napkins, or whatever he’d been doing before getting distracted. “C’mon, Gallagher, ain’t got all day.”

The bell above the door tinkles and their first customer of the day steps inside.

“Right, sorry.” Ian mutters, brushing past Mickey so he can get behind the register. “Good morning!”

Ian learns pretty quickly that people love staring at him. It happens _a lot_ over the next couple hours - whether it’s because of his hair, or because of his height, or just because he’s a new face in a town full of the same cast of characters day after day. He doesn’t really mind all that much - he’d got used to people _looking_ at him a long, _long_ , time ago, and at least this time they’re not doing it just because they wanna fuck him. Being the town’s novelty attraction is several steps up from being underage and dancing in a club for money.

Officially speaking - or, at least, as official as a kurt conversation over a hastily thrown together BLT at lunchtime _can_ be - Ian’s shift isn’t supposed to end until four-thirty. They’d agreed on it and everything. They probably should’ve done it sooner, to be honest, but outside of asking what time Mickey even wanted him to show up this morning, Ian had been hesitant to text him. Which was dumb, admittedly, because he has Mickey’s number for a _reason_ , but. Well. Ian’s kind of been an idiot about this whole thing.

Which is probably, definitely, _one hundred percent_ , why he doesn’t really react when Mickey tells him he can leave just after four. Liam’s tucked in the corner, working on some homework, with Duke laying at his feet. That had been another part of their agreement - that Liam could come hang out until Ian’s shift finished.

Ian’s painfully aware of just how much he owes Mickey. Of how… lenient… Mickey’s being about this shit, and of what that _means_.

“You deaf?” Mickey asks when Ian doesn’t respond to him.

“Huh?”

Ian’s in the middle of unloading the dishwasher, getting a faceful of steam as he organises a couple of plates into a manageable stack. He glances over his shoulder at where Mickey’s standing on the other side of the counter, his baseball cap on backwards again as he uses the end of his chewed up pencil to scratch at his eyebrow.

“Go _home_ , Gallagher.”

Ian frowns, shifting a little so he can get a better grip on the plates. "Thought I finished at four-thirty?"

Mickey shrugs, his shoulders slumping on a silent sigh. "You do, but there ain't exactly a lot to do right now, so. You can go, if you wanna."

He does. He _really_ does.

He had known, obviously, what working with Mickey would mean. It's just that he hadn't really thought about how all consuming it was gonna be. Eight hours of working with him has tired Ian out in ways he really hadn't expected. He feels like he's run an emotional marathon with how exhausted he feels, and they've barely even fucking spoken to each other.

"You're sure?" He asks, because there's still a part of him that thinks this is a trick. That this is just one elaborate joke to catch Ian out and give Mickey an excuse to fire him on the first day.

Either Ian is starting to get the hang of Mickey’s body language again or the look Mickey gives him is just _that_ obvious, but either way it lets Ian know exactly what Mickey thinks of him. He tries not to be embarrassed about it, about apparently being caught out, but it's hard not to when Mickey’s staring at him like he's grown a second head.

"Guess you could polish the silver if you're that desperate to stick around." Mickey says after a second or two of silence.

His mouth twitching, just a _fraction_ , is what gives him away as not being serious. Ian huffs a quiet laugh and nods. 

"Thanks."

"For askin' you to clean the silverware?" Mickey asks with a slight grin.

The sight of it takes Ian’s breath away for a second. Mickey had always been good looking, even when he’d been covered in dirt and thought spiking his hair up like a fucking hedgehog was a good choice, so it’s not like Ian doesn’t know it already. It’s not as if he’s missed the fact Mickey’s still hot as fuck, or anything, he’s not _blind_. But there is a difference, he thinks as Mickey smiles over at him, between knowing it and _knowing it_.

It just makes him feel a little funny, that’s all. Like the knowledge had been there, at the back of his mind, and now he has no choice but to deal with it. Which… absolutely is _not_ happening. It’s _not_. Ian doesn’t have the time or the energy to deal with it.

“Just what I always wanted.”

Mickey’s smile grows a little. Just for a second. But it _counts_ because it was Ian that made it happen. Then he clears his throat and rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

“Get outta here, man.”

“Okay.” Ian says, not needing to be told for a _fourth_ time. 

He unties the apron and throws it in the bin Mickey had pointed out to him that morning. Liam doesn’t so much as glance up as he approaches the table, but jumps slightly when Ian places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“C’mon, bud. Time to go.”

Liam’s frown vanishes almost instantly and he scrabbles to pack up his shit, seemingly not caring about whether it gets crumpled or not. When he’s done, he hands his backpack over to Ian, who slings it over one shoulder so Liam can quickly make a fuss over Duke.

“You’re gonna see him tomorrow.” Ian points out with a laugh.

“I know. But…” Liam trails off, giving Duke one final pat before standing up straight. “Okay.”

Ian settles into a small, hand barely brushing against Liam’s back as he steers him toward the door. He hears the tell tale clack of claws against the floor, Mickey’s soft word of reprimand, followed by a low whine, and glances over his shoulder. Duke’s moved to sit at Mickey’s side, and seems content enough with the hand Mickey has settled in his fur.

Mickey raises an eyebrow at him as they reach the door and Ian offers him a slight wave.

“See you tomorrow!”

*

_thirtieth_

It takes Ian a solid three days to fully settle into working at the diner, and to start feeling... well. Maybe ‘confident’ isn’t the right word, exactly, because he definitely still feels like the rug’s about to be pulled out from under him half the time, but he slowly stops relying on Mickey to tell him what to do as much. Starts _taking the initiative_ or whatever the fuck employers always say.

He feels good about it, himself, whenever he does it, too. Like it’s just easy and comfortable and he doesn’t need to second guess himself because the worst that can happen is Mickey glaring at him. Which he does anyway sometimes, when he thinks Ian isn’t looking. But it’s good, nice. Especially when it comes to Ian actually getting to talk to people. He’s always been pretty good at that, at getting people to _like_ him, on a surface level if nothing else. His family would probably argue that talking and actually _saying_ anything are two completely different things, and maybe they’d be right. But, whatever. They’re not here, and Ian is.

Mickey seems to appreciate the growing independence, too, which isn’t why Ian started doing it, but it’s definitely a bonus. Ian doesn’t think it’d be an exaggeration to say that Mickey’s warmed up to him a little bit over the last couple days. Fractionally. Not to say Mickey doesn’t still bitch at him, because he _does_ , but. It’s getting better.

“Good morning, handsome!”

Ian glances up from the stack of napkins he’s been fiddling with for the past minute – they _refuse_ to go in the dispenser and he’s about ready to lose fucking _mind_ – to offer the woman on the other side of the counter a smile. She’s an older woman, probably mid-seventies and looking extremely good for it, and every morning this week she’s been the first one through the door.

“Morning, Mrs. Foote.” He turns back to the napkins briefly so he can just shove them as hard as he can.

From the corner of his eye, he sees her huff dramatically. There’s a broach in the shape of a butterfly above her left breast pocket, and he has no idea about gemstones or anything like that, but the red ones glitter in the light shining directly overhead. It would be super distracting, if he were actually looking at her, but he keeps his head down as she mutters to herself for a second.

“Please. How many times? Call me Celia.”

The napkins _finally_ go in, and Ian makes a victorious noise before looking up at her again. He puts on his best fake smile – which is at _least_ ten steps up from the one he used to have at _Patsy’s_ – and gives her his full attention.

“What’re you having today?”

Mrs. Foote gives him an unimpressed look at the lack of response, before shaking her head and smiling too. “Oh, I don’t know. What would _you_ suggest?”

“Ain’t been here long enough for that.” Mickey’s disjointed voice comes wafting out from the backroom.

Ian risks a quick look over to the doorway in time to see Mickey come stumbling around the corner with a stack of boxes that he can barely see over the top of. The top one isn’t quite balanced right, and Ian watches it wobble with the sudden change of direction. He has no idea what’s in them, but he knows Mickey’s gonna be pissed if they fall, so he makes a split-second decision to lead forward and rescue the top two boxes.

Mickey frowns at him when their eyes meet, but he doesn’t actually seem to mind the help because he mutters a quick, “Thanks.”

“My brother likes the croissants.” Ian says, turning back to Mrs. Foote. “Think he’d live off ‘em if I let him.”

“You have a brother?” Mrs. Foote says, curiosity weaving its way around her words. “Well, I’ll trust his judgement, then.”

Ian quickly sets about pulling a croissant from the inside of the display case, the tongs cold and heavy in his hand as he works. “I got three.”

“Hmm?”

“Brothers. I’ve got three.”

Mickey scoffs under his breath, brushing behind Ian and sending goosebumps up his arms. “Not for long you don’t.”

“Mickey,” Ian says reproachfully, carefully placing the croissant in a paper bag and folding the top over. “You’re not gonna murder Lip. I am.”

“I thought you were new here.” Mrs. Foote says carefully.

Ian looks up from what he’s doing and nods. “I am. Got here a couple weeks ago.”

“Then how…” She trails off, eyes flicking towards Mickey.

Mickey, for his part, seems to realise what’s just happened because he swears under his breath. Ian’s not exactly sure what to do, or how to answer her, so he stays silent. _Hopes_ Mickey’s gonna say something soon before it gets uncomfortable.

After a couple more seconds of silence, just as it’s starting to stretch into unnatural territory, Mickey clears his throat and shifts so he’s standing next to Ian. Their elbows knock together as Mickey thumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“We, uh. We sorta… grew up in the same neighbourhood.”

Mrs. Foote’s eyes _light_ up and she claps her hands. “Oh, how wonderful! I bet you’re both just thrilled to see a familiar face.”

Ian _really_ doesn’t know what to say, but he smiles and accepts the money she offers him. He laughs, all nervous energy. “Yeah, it’s… it’s really been something.”

“Well,” she says, taking both her change and the paper bag, “I’ll let you boys get back to it. Wouldn’t want to keep you.”

She gives them both a final smile and then shuffles back towards the door. Mickey watches her go in silence, a frown firmly in place, and it’s not until she’s out the door and they’re alone again that he lets out the breath he’d apparently been holding. He meets Ian’s eye and makes a face Ian can only describe as a grimace.

“I give it an hour before everyone in town knows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right, we made it. congrats. sorry this took a literal month, i hope it was at least worth the wait??
> 
> i feel like i have housekeeping i should be doing but tbh i've forgotten what anything but basic human motor function looks like 
> 
> as always, you can find me on my socials: [tumblr](http://floristmick.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/floristmick)

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so to start with, here's something that is super important to me. black lives matter. black lives have _always_ mattered. they always _will_ matter. so, if you've had time to read all 2.5k of this (so far), then you also have time to check out [this caard](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/#) if you haven't already, and find out ways you can help <3
> 
> i don't really have a lot to say, for once, except to say that the title is part a lorelai gilmore quote. so. i'm gonna leave it here, and i'll see you all for the next one <3
> 
> [tumblr](http://floristmick.tumblr.com) | [twitter](http://twitter.com/floristmick)


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